Memento Mori
by Raxacorico
Summary: During a rescue attempt gone wrong, the Doctor and Rose are captured and imprisoned by two men who inexplicably know too much about the Doctor. Enduring pain has never been easy... (Whump)
1. A Christmas Visit

**Author's Note: **I don't typically write stories based on plot, but people seem to like those so I'm giving it a go. Bear with me.

* * *

Life in the TARDIS was timeless; that is to say, time within the blue box wasn't so much wibbley-wobbly as it was nonexistent. Inside those walls, with the Time Vortex at their fingertips and the universe as their horizon, there was no time, no seasons, and no holidays.

Except on special occasions.

"Doctor," Rose said, circling the console and trailing her hand over a lever. "I was thinkin'…."

"Yeah?" the Doctor said distractedly.

"It's been a while since I've seen my mum—"

The Doctor cringed. "Good old Jackie," he said.

"Don't be like that. She's my mum."

"Still insane," the Doctor muttered. Rose glared at him. "She hits me!" he protested.

"Can't a nine hundred-year-old Time Lord handle it?"

"While on some planets fisticuffs are considered to be an indication of attraction, neither you nor I am from one of those planets. And abusive prepubescent flirting amongst humans does not count!" he said, pointing a finger at Rose.

"I'll tell her not to hit you."

"You better."

"I will, seriously."

"All right. Fine. We'll go visit your mother. Briefly! I don't do family stuff."

Rose smiled at him—rather smugly, he thought, but perhaps he was being biased. "Doctor…" she repeated slowly.

"Hmm?" He had gone back to examining some wiring under the grating.

"Can we go during Christmas? Spend the holidays with her?"

"Blimey," he said, poking his head back up to look at her with his eyebrows raised. "Jackie Tyler _and _the Christmas season? May I point out that a) she is going to be absolutely off-the-wall middle-aged-mother holiday-crazed, and b) things tend to happen around Christmas."

"Things."

"Things! You know, things. Every time I visit Earth Christmas, things happen. You remember the last one: regenerated, killer Christmas tree, pilot fish Father Christmases, Sycorax, Harriet Jones, swordfight, lost my hand! And I love that hand." He looked at his fingers and wiggled them. "_My _hand," he said, a little possessively.

"You're gettin' grumpy because you lost a hand that you grew back," Rose said blankly.

"Oi! You try losing a hand!" he said, staring at her.

"Did you even feel it?"

"Feel what."

"The hand gettin' chopped off."

"'Course I did! Hurt like hell!"

"You didn't even bleed."

"_Magic_," he whispered in mock mysteriousness.

"Time Lord's aren't magic."

"Oh, we so are."

"Oh, you so aren't. You _wish _you were magic."

"Then how do you explain the fact that I know what your friend Jenna got you on your eighth birthday?"

"Doctor. I caught you readin' my diary."

"Nooo," he breathed, again feigning that mysterious air. "Magiiic!"

Rose looked at him, arms crossed. "You are out of your mind."

The Doctor grinned manically. "As ever!"

"So, can we?"

"Can we what."

"See my mum."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes."

"Do we have to stay for more than an hour?"

"Yes."

"Yes, okay, fine. The sacrifices I make for you!" the Doctor said grumpily, then winked. He clambered out of the hole in which he had been sitting and reached around the console, flicking switches and spinning knobs. "Hold tight," he said, and with a waggle of his eyebrows he flipped the lever.

* * *

They stepped out of the TARDIS to a cold, wet London. The Doctor closed the door behind them and looked around at the Christmas bows and strings of lights scattered around the exteriors of the buildings. He sniffed and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. Glanced down at a puddle. Turned to Rose.

"Lead on, Miss Tyler," he said. She grinned. Here was her London. Home. She hadn't realised how much she had missed it until now. Rose took a deep breath of the city air—chips and fumes and chicken tikka masala. Leather, wet leaves, pavement. With the rain drizzling down on their heads they stood amidst the shoppers and the bundled up Londoners on rented bicycles. A taxi down the street honked at a pair of tourists who were trying to cross the road. Rose took the Doctor's hand and, skipping slightly, led him towards the apartment where she had lived for so many years with her mum.

* * *

The key turned in the lock and Jackie, hearing the click of the doorknob, jumped to her feet from where she had been sitting watching telly. Some Christmas special about a little dog named Charlie. "Rose?" she called hopefully.

Except it wasn't Rose. As Jackie turned the corner into the entryway, a pair of hands grabbed her and another pressed a damp cloth to her face. Jackie tried to scream, but the sound that escaped her mouth was a strangled, muffled squeal. No one heard it. No one was coming to help. She struggled in her attacker's grip and kicked out, trying to land a blow on one of them. Her wild thrashing knocked a glass ornament from the cabinet and it smashed on the floor. A photograph of Rose toppled over. And then everything gradually went fuzzy and dark and she slumped in their arms and lost consciousness.

"Come on then, pick her up," the taller of the two commanded.

"You're bigger than I am," the other, bearded man complained.

"So?"

"So why am I the one who's got to carry 'er?"

"Coz I said so."

"Aww, c'mon, Paul," whined Beardy. "Lump like 'er? I'll get back strain."

"It's that or a punch to the gut," Paul threatened. Beardy huffed and glared. He bent and grabbed Jackie, heaving her up and struggling to heft her over his shoulder.

"Uff—gah—she could stand to lose some weight," he groaned. Paul rolled his eyes, then strolled into the living room and took a blanket from the couch. He returned and draped the blanket over Jackie's limp body, nodded at Beardy, and opened the door. They briskly walked out, descended the stairs of the apartment building, and got into a dark van parked outside. If the neighbours saw anything, it was nothing more than two men in police uniforms carrying a heavy object wrapped in a cloth.

* * *

Rose and the Doctor climbed the stairs to the second floor, breathing heavily from exertion in the cold winter air. Their breath formed clouds in front of their faces.

"Mum's going to be surprised," Rose was chattering, a big grin on her face. "Mind you, she might be cross. Not knowing we were coming and all."

The Doctor made a wide-eyed face as he remembered their last visit. "Here's hoping she gets over it quickly," he said.

They stopped outside the door and Rose lifted her key, then froze. The Doctor reached out a hand and slowly, cautiously, pushed. The door swung open. They exchanged glances.

"Maybe she felt like a nice nippy breeze?" the Doctor suggested hopefully.

Rose stared at the open door. It was probably nothing, but…Jackie never left the door ajar. For years she had scolded Rose for not shutting it tightly. Didn't even leave it unlocked, usually. In a city, you didn't know whom you could trust, and ever since Jackie had met the Doctor, monsters and aliens and danger and trouble following in his wake, she had taken precautions against unwanted guests. She wasn't about to forget the Slitheen in her kitchen.

Rose stepped over the threshold. "Mum?" she called. She made her way slowly into the apartment. The Doctor made to follow her, but Rose had halted abruptly once more.

"Rose?" the Doctor said. Rose didn't answer. He sidestepped her and moved to see what she was looking at. Shards of broken glass littered the floor. Rose knelt and picked one up. Holding it to her eyes, she straightened and turned to the cabinet where the glass ornament had sat for the last six years, when Rose had given it to her mother as a birthday gift. Nestled between a photo and— The photo. It had fallen, or been tipped—not in anger, was it? How long had she been gone?—and was now on its face, the photograph hidden. Rose righted it with a trembling hand. The Doctor put a hand on her shoulder and moved past her into the apartment.

"Jackie?" he called. "Jackie? I've brought Rose, we've come to stay for Christmas, if that's all right."

Rose watched him silently.

"_Jackie?_" he repeated, louder than before.

"She's not here, Doctor," Rose said quietly.

The Doctor didn't listen. He sprang from room to room, calling Jackie's name. Checking every room. Rose moved to the living room couch in a haze, her senses feeling muted. Her head buzzed. Her mother was gone. The door was open. The ornament broken, the photo tipped. Something was very wrong, and the Doctor refused to admit it in front of Rose.

He returned to her, his face unreadable, and plopped himself next to her on the couch. She held a wrapped present in her hands. "For Rose, XOXO," the tag said. She was holding it and staring ahead blankly. Her eyes were unfocused.

"Probably just popped out for a bit in a hurry. Bumped into the cabinet on her way out. She'll be back," he said.

"Then why is the television still on," Rose said expressionlessly.

"Is it?" The Doctor checked. It was. Charlie the dog was running as fast as his little dog legs could take him through the snow. "Maybe it was an emergency."

"Don't lie to me, Doctor." Rose turned to look him in the eye. "You smelled it when we walked in, didn't you. The chemicals."

"The Doctor swallowed and looked at his hands. "Trichloromethane," he admitted softly. Rose didn't move, her gaze prompting him to clarify. He cleared his throat. "Chloroform," he said, still avoiding looking at her. A tiny hiccup of a sob escaped Rose's throat, and he put his arm around her and pulled her to him.

"They've taken my mum," she choked, her hand over her face.

"It's okay," he said, stroking her head and rocking her rhythmically. "I'll find her. I'll get her back. We'll fix this, all right?" Rose nodded weakly into his jacket, sniffling. "Attagirl. Now, stay here. I'm going to make you a nice cup of tea, and then I'm going to find your mother, and I swear to you, Rose Tyler, I will not stop until she is safe. I _will not stop_. You understand?" Rose nodded again. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her, held her tight, and then released her and stood up. Rose stayed where she was, curled in on herself and sniffling. The Doctor had quickly busied himself in the kitchen, rummaging through drawers and cabinets. He put the kettle on, zapped it once with the sonic screwdriver to quicken the heating of the water, and within three minutes had returned to Rose's side.

He sat gently next to her and handed her the steaming mug of tea with a murmured, "Here."

She took it with shaking hands, which he steadied with his own.

"Why'd they take her?" Rose whispered.

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out and I'm going to bring her back, safe and sound."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now!" he said, jumping up and striding towards the front door. "If we can still smell the chloroform, that means that Jackie was taken quite recently. Within the last half hour, I'd say." He sniffed. "Well, more like twenty-three minutes, give or take…." He whipped out the sonic screwdriver and scanned around him in a circle. "If I can just get a reading…. Setting 15D…." He was talking to himself, completely engrossed in what he was doing. "Track residual energy traces, input the temporal frequency into the TARDIS, normalize the polar grid—ohh, I've got you," he said, beaming.

He turned to Rose, full of manic energy. "Rose, I'm following a signal. Should lead me directly to your mother. I'm going to bring her back. In the meantime, just—stay here. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"What?" Rose frowned and got to her feet. "I'm not staying. I'm coming with you."

"This could be dangerous. I can't have you along with me, we don't know who these people are or what they want. I can't guarantee your safety and I don't want to risk it."

Rose snorted. "Since when have you ever guaranteed my safety? I've been with you in hundreds of dangerous situations. Got attacked by brass men, met the Daleks, got caught in World War Two bombing hanging from a barrage balloon, faced a horde of zombies and a werewolf and killer shop mannequins…. How is this any different?"

"It's different."

"How?"

"This is—Look. This is your mum. There's emotional attachment. Emotional involvement. It changes things."

"Yeah, she's my mum! And that's why I have to come with you!"

"It's not just—" The Doctor scratched his head. He started over. "It's not just a matter of you getting too involved. I mean, yes, that could compromise things, but Rose, we don't know what we're walking into—"

"When do we ever know what we're walkin' into?" Rose interrupted.

"No, it's not like that. These people are dangerous. They took your mother, we don't know why, for all we know it could be a trap or they could be lunatics, maybe they think they can gain something from this or maybe—I mean, maybe it's their idea of…fun."

"So just because we don't know their motives, this makes it different from every other thing we've gone through together?"

"Yes—no—it's complicated."

"It's really not. I'm coming."

"You are _not coming!_" the Doctor suddenly shouted. Rose took a step back, alarmed. The Doctor put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. "People do things when they see someone they love get hurt. They lose a piece of themselves. They become someone they never wanted to be. There's—there's vengeance, and hatred, and adrenaline telling you to hurt someone back, make them pay."

"Like you after the Time War," Rose said quietly.

"Yeah. Like me after the Time War."

She stepped forward and took his hand. "But I'll have you," she said. "I'll have you to keep me sane. And to stop me from doing those things. Just like you had me. I'm not gonna be alone."

The Doctor swallowed. "You have to be absolutely certain," he said, locking eyes with her. "You're going to have to stay calm and controlled." She nodded. He didn't move. "Swear to me, Rose, that you will remain detached until it's safe to be otherwise."

"I swear," she said, wishing that he would stop looking at her like that. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then abruptly turned away and strode out the door. She followed.


	2. Capture

While the Doctor programmed the TARDIS to follow the signal taken from the sonic, he questioned Rose about why Jackie might have been taken. While the Doctor realised that it wasn't particularly kind to involve Rose in such grim hypothetical brainstorming, he needed to know as much as possible and he needed her to be emotionally prepared. For all he knew, Jackie's kidnappers had murdered her, though the use of chloroform suggested otherwise.

"Rose," he began, connecting wires and reading numbers off the monitor. "I need you to tell me anything that might give us a clue as to what is going on. Anything." Rose shook her head and looked at him blankly. "Would she have come into a lot of money recently? Does she, I dunno, play the lottery? Anything like that? Scratchcards? Game shows? No? Okay, well, does she borrow money? Is she in debt?"

"We never had a lot of money, but we got by."

"Enemies? Spurned lovers? Psychopaths? Online dating? C'mon, I can't be the only one who hates your mum."

"Joke," he said quickly, seeing Rose's face. "Yeah, maybe not the best time."

Rose was looking at the grating of the floor. There was a long pause, and then she said, "Clive told me that the Doctor's one constant companion is death. He said you leave disaster in your wake."

The Doctor's head snapped around to face her, and he ceased his fiddling with the controls. He stared, looking hurt. Not hurt because of what Rose had said, but because it had been Rose who said it. "Who is Clive?" he asked gravely.

"He had a website about you. When I first met you. I contacted him and he told me all this stuff—conspiracy theories, I thought it was. But then I found you again—" Her brow furrowed. "Well, you found me. And it all turned out to be true. All of it."

"You think this is because of me," he said.

"It's the only thing that makes sense! Last Christmas, when you were unconscious and dyin' in bed, that brass band started shooting at me and Mickey. Because of you. They came after us because we had you tucked up in bed. Look, I'm sorry, but there are creatures that come after you and sometimes people get in the way." Rose had tears in her eyes and was trying to hold them in. He could see her struggle. How she wanted to shout and rave at him. Probably hit him. How she fought to keep herself under control. Finally the emotions broke through and she shouted, "You have no idea how many people get hurt because of you!"

The accusation was like a blow to both his hearts.

"I know," he said softly. "I do know."

"Then how do you live with it?"

"It's a horrible weight to carry," he said. "Every day. People die fighting for me and others who have never met me die because of me. Good people. People who deserve to live long, happy lives free of me. And it hurts, Rose. It's a terrible, terrible burden. But you must know that I would gladly sacrifice myself for them."

"Why don't you? Why not just stop? Give yourself up?"

Rose had never seen the Doctor look so crushed. "Tell me you don't really want that," he said sadly.

A terrible guilt filled her, and she felt her face grow hot. She hung her head. "No. I'm sorry."

A steady beeping sounded from the TARDIS console, but neither the Doctor nor Rose moved. "I try to protect them," he said.

"I know."

"Nothing is going to happen to your mother. I made you a promise." For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Rose nodded mutely. There was nothing she could say. The Doctor watched her for a moment, as though to insure that she was all right, and then he turned to the monitor and read through the results displayed there.

"Found them," he stated. He twisted a knob and pressed a series of controls. He made eye contact with Rose, his face still bearing traces of that sadness. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

He pulled the lever, and once again they jolted into flight. It was a bumpier flight than usual, and the two of them struggled to keep their footing. At one point the Doctor swung the monitor around, clutching the console with his other hand as he was jolted to and fro, and swept the readings with his eyes. Then, with a small crash, they landed.

"We're just south of London," the Doctor said, straightening up. "About seven degrees Celsius out, but other than that I have no idea. TARDIS isn't giving me much."

"Maybe there's not much to give."

"Maybe not. Shall we find out?"

"Let's do it."

"Rose Tyler, bravest of the brave. Let's rescue your mother." The Doctor grabbed his sonic screwdriver from where it had been plugged into the console, tucked it into his inner coat pocket, and stood at the door.

"Blimey, I hope we're doing this right," he said, and then he opened the door and stepped out.

Instantly he was met with the barrel of a gun. He froze, slowly lifting his hands over his head. Rose, who had not yet seen the gunman, stepped out of the TARDIS after him and bumped right into him.

"Rose, shut the door!" he said swiftly. She sprang into action and did so, just as another man who had gone unnoticed in the shadows leapt to jam his foot in the opening. Rose was faster, and the door closed with a bang. Locked. The second, shorter man cursed and pulled out his own gun, pointing it at the Doctor's chest.

"Right, yes, hello," the Doctor said brightly to the two guns directed at him. "I thought I'd stop by, meet the family…er…. Do you have a moment to talk about Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?"

"Funny man, are you?" the taller man said gruffly. "He said you were funny."

"Did he? That's good. Funny's good. I used to be a right sour old man and, well, you should've seen me in the mornings. Crotchety, that's the word. Sorry, can I just ask, who is 'he'?"

"Alan, grab the girl," the man said, not taking his eyes off of the Doctor. "No need to be gentle. He needs to know we mean business."

The man called Alan roughly grabbed Rose by the shoulders and yanked her arms behind her back. She cried out.

"I'd have thought two guns pointed at my chest would have indicated that you mean business," the Doctor said mildly. "Anyway, leave the girl, she's just someone I picked up for drinks in Piccadilly. A quick snog and a drink, that's what I said, and now she won't leave me alone! Been trailing me like a puppy, haven't you? Honestly, the best thing to do is just to put her outside in the snow and let her find her way back home. Not even a good snog. And a lousy drunk! I'm—"

"The Doctor always travels with a companion," the man interrupted, clearly not amused.

"The Doctor? Doctor who? If you're looking for a doctor, may I recommend an excellent chap down by Theobald's. Dr. Harvey. Terrific; cured my hernia within a fortnight. It was suddenly so much easier to take a—"

Suddenly the man's arm swung out and the gun connected with the side of the Doctor's head, hard. He reeled and slumped to the ground, dazed. Rose shouted and struggled in her captor's grip. "Don't play dumb with me, Doctor!" the man roared. "We know who you are. And we know who she is. You think we believe your little story about picking up some slut for a drink?"

The Doctor pressed a hand to his head. It came away bloody. "There was no need for that," he muttered.

"Oh, I'm sure there was," the man growled.

"Don't touch him!" Rose shouted.

"Would you rather we touch you?" Alan purred into her ear. His hand slid down her belly, inching lower. "Pretty girl, all tied up…. My kind of night."

"You sick bastard!" she snapped.

Alan laughed. "I'm a nice guy, if you get to know me…and I have a feeling you will get to know me. _Intimately_," he breathed, his peppermint breath hot on her cheek. Rose would have spat at him, if she could turn her head far enough. Instead she had to be content with stomping as hard as she could on Alan's foot.

"Shit!" Alan yelped, hopping back yet not releasing her. "Shit, Paul, you see what she did? First her mum, then her, I swear to you—"

"_What have you done with my mum?_" Rose demanded.

The Doctor clambered laboriously to his feet, still holding his head. "Rose," he said, "I hate to tell you this, but there are two of you."

"Doctor, focus. They've taken my mum, remember?"

"I'm trying to focus," he frowned, "but everything is just a bit fuzzy, you know?"

She stared at him, wondering exactly how hard they had hit him. He pulled his hand back to see how much blood there was on his palm, winced, and winked at her. "Cheap joke. Not even a very good one. Mind you, this does hurt quite a bit. Have you got a plaster?" he asked Paul, who was still pointing the gun at him. He checked the blood again. "Might have to be a big plaster. Not sure. Is it a big ol' gash, or just a little one?" he said, this time to Rose. He pulled his hair back to show her. Paul nodded at Alan, and Alan kicked the Doctor in the side.

"Oof," the Doctor said, stumbling and falling once more. "I probably should have seen that coming. Ah." He winced and gingerly felt his side with probing fingers. "Ouch."

Paul took the opportunity to position himself behind the Doctor and, shoving him forward, he pulled the Doctor's arms behind him and fixed a pair of handcuffs to his wrists. The same was done to Rose, who was at least allowed to remain on her feet as she already had her arms held behind her back.

"All right, look, we're coming quietly," the Doctor said.

"Not quietly enough," growled Paul.

"No, seriously, we're not trying to stir up trouble. Are we, Rose? We'll behave."

"Shut it!" Paul snapped.

"Shut it," Alan agreed, his fingers playing with his short beard.

"Do you have to be such a sidekick?"

Alan shrugged. "Just agreein' with you."

"Yeah, well stop it." Paul grabbed a handful of the Doctor's jacket and pulled him to his feet, shoving him forward. "Walk," he said. Alan did the same to Rose.

"Where's my mum?" she demanded.

"Oh, she's somewhere around here," Paul said vaguely. Alan grinned.

"What have you done to her?" Rose said fiercely.

Alan prodded her back. "Faster," he said. She quickened her pace.

"Here's a question," the Doctor said. "Where are we going? Might we have the honour of meeting the brains behind all this? No offense to you two, of course."

"You're not in the best position to make snide remarks, _Doctor_," Paul growled.

"Oh, so you got that one!" the Doctor said brightly. "Wasn't sure if your brains had the capacity to realise that I was making fun of you."

Paul snarled and hit him across the face, halting the march.

"I don't get it…" Alan said slowly, just as Rose said, "Doctor, stop it!"

The Doctor worked his stinging jaw. "Stop what?" he said innocently.

"Just—stop makin' them angry!"

"Your little friend seems to want to protect you," Paul said. He turned to Rose and smirked. "She's right, you know. You really shouldn't make us mad. We'll keep hurting you. 'Course…you're gonna get hurt anyway." His smile widened. Alan giggled and trailed one finger through Rose's hair; she flinched and twisted away.

"Well, that sounds ominous," the Doctor muttered under his breath.

"I told you to shut it!" Paul said. He pushed him forward again, and the group resumed its march.

For the first time, the Doctor and Rose took the opportunity to examine their surroundings. They were in a long, dark corridor with off-white walls, tile floors, and a lingering smell of disinfectant. Without a doubt, this was a disused hospital. The rooms they passed were stripped of their former occupants' names and possessions, the doors as often shut as ajar. All of the lights were off. Their footsteps echoed in the space and there was a cold emptiness to it. An absence of life. No staff, no patients, just the two travelers-turned-prisoners and their guards. Rose shuddered. The Doctor noticed and gave her a reassuring nod, as if to say, "It's fine, it's under control, don't worry." She nodded back. They had been in worse situations—hadn't they? It was hard to tell. Neither of them had any idea what they were heading towards; nothing friendly, that much was clear.

Their captors herded them around a corner to a door labelled "stairs." Rose assumed that there was no power to work the lifts. They stepped through the door onto the landing. "Down," Paul said briefly. They descended. For a moment Rose debated whether or not to try to make a run for it, but the two men had guns and she had little doubt that they would shoot her if she tried to get away. Maybe not shoot to kill, but nonetheless she didn't fancy the idea of a bullet tearing through her flesh. So far, she thought, this was not turning out to be the best Christmas. She began counting the number of flights they went down. One, two, three…. She had no idea which floor the TARDIS had materialised on, but she wondered how far they could possible descend. Were they underground?

The stairs ended outside an unlabelled door. "In," Paul said. Rose, who was in the lead, hesitated. "In!" he snapped. She reached out and turned the handle, and they filed through.

Instantly Rose felt her blood grow cold. There would be no negotiating, she thought. She glanced hurriedly at the Doctor; his face had gone pale, though he kept his expression blank.

It was a basement. How far underground, she didn't know. The room was wide and low, bare except for two things: a large cell in one corner, and a smaller one in the centre of the room. Paul grinned. "Welcome to your new home," he said. "It's temporary…if you do what we want. He directed this last part to the Doctor, whose eyebrows shot up.

"And what is it you want?" he said.

"All in good time, Doctor," Paul said. Once more prodding them with the guns, the two men ushered them towards the larger cell.

"In you get," Alan said, holding the door open in a mock-gentlemanly fashion. They did as they were told. Alan swung the door shut behind them and locked it with a key on a chain around his neck. He winked and grabbed the bars with both hands. "Oh no! Oh no! I'm trapped!" he shrieked. "Somebody help! Get me out of here!" Rose glared at him. He guffawed and stepped back to observe the two prisoners, as though examining his excellent handiwork on a piece of art.

"Enjoy," Paul said. With that, the two men turned their backs to them and strode out the door.

There was a brief pause, and then the Doctor said casually, "Fortunately, they're thick." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver with a flick of his wrist. "Fancy getting out of here?"

"God, yes. It's freezin' down here."

The sonic buzzed, and moments later the cell door swung open with a click.

"Easy peasey," the Doctor said, extending his hand to Rose. She took it and they hurried to the door.

"Do you think it's safe to leave the room yet? I mean, what if they're still in the stairway," Rose said.

"We should probably wait a bit," the Doctor agreed.

Two minutes of silence later, they looked at each other and wordlessly agreed to move. The Doctor grabbed the door handle—and a massive electrical shock swept through his body. His body jerked, rigid, his hand unable to release the handle. His mouth was open in a silent scream. Rose cried out and, disregarding the electricity, pulled him back. The door handle slipped from his fingers and he collapsed to the floor, the sonic screwdriver falling from his hand.

"Doctor!" she shouted. "Doctor! Can you hear me?" His eyes were closed. He did not respond. Rose shook him. "_Doctor!_"

She put her ear to his chest. Pressed her fingers to his neck. There was no sign of a pulse.

"Oh god, oh god oh god."

The door swung open and slammed against the wall. Rose's head snapped up. Paul strode into the room, taking in the scene in front of him. He pushed her aside, knelt beside the Doctor, and began pressing the palms of his hands into his chest, hard. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…. He repeated the gesture on the other side. Twice more he performed CPR, and at last the Doctor gasped and twitched. His body convulsed. Paul stood and looked down at him with a dark satisfaction. Turning on the spot, he grabbed Rose's forearm and violently dragged her to the cell. He shoved her inside and, removing his own key from his waistband, locked the door. Paul then marched to where the Doctor still lay on the ground, gasping air, and yanked him upright. The Doctor struggled feebly to get his footing, but Paul did not care, or did not have the patience to let him. He pulled him to the cell and, unlocking it once more, threw him inside before relocking it. Rose flung herself to him and put her hand on his shoulder, examining his face in fear.

"Learned your lesson, did you, Doctor?" Paul said angrily. The Doctor did not answer, still struggling to breathe on his hands and knees.

Paul stepped towards the door and leaned down. He picked up the sonic screwdriver from where it had fallen. "I'll be keeping this," he said. Then he left the room.

* * *

**Author's note: **The next chapters are currently being written. Slowly. Have patience. Unless, of course, you hate the story, in which case feel free to not have patience and never read another chapter. If you _do_ like it so far, please review! It lets me know I'm writing for somebody.  
Much whumping ahead. Be prepared.


	3. Until We Break

**Author's note**: I feel so pleased with myself when my Microsoft Word document says it's at page 17, and then I upload it here and POOF! It looks so small and unimpressive. I'll get over the sadness. Apologies for the brevity of the chapter, but I wanted to provide it quickly for the itty bitty handful of people who expressed a desire to read on.

* * *

The Doctor panted and massaged his chest. "He knows," he said.

"Knows what?" Rose stared at him anxiously.

"Two hearts," he choked. "He knows I have two hearts."

"Okay, so it's bad."

"Yes."

"But we don't know how bad."

"But it's bad." He groaned and made to stand. "I don't think I've ever been this abused in one day."

"Come on, let's sit you on the bed."

The Doctor turned to look. He hadn't noticed the low bed against the wall, but there it was, small and looking uncomfortable and definitely only made to fit one person.

"A bed!"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's something."

"Yeah, it is."

"You know, even Jackie's never abused me this much."

"No."

"There's a bed, though."

"Yeah, there is. Can you stand up?"

He stood on shaky legs and Rose led him to the bed and lowered him down so he sat on the edge of it, his back against the wall, still breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" she said, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Fantastic. Nothing like getting electrocuted to death and then being revived by an evil, brainless madman."

"The door was booby trapped."

"I hadn't noticed," he said sarcastically. Rose bit her lip.

"We can still get out of here."

"Maybe. No sonic, though. My hearts stopped."

"Seriously, Doctor, are you going to be all right?"

"Well, at least it was a relatively quick death. Didn't last long. No regeneration, must've died too fast. Lucky, really, that our tall friend was there to perform CPR."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Not so lucky that he knows I have two hearts."

Rose sat next to him and took his hand. "You always have a plan. We'll get out of this."

"But no pressure," he said.

"We'll figure it out," she said, trying to sound reassuring.

"There we go. That's the plan. The plan is, we figure out what the plan is." He began slowly hitting his head against the wall. "Only problem is, I'm not sure I like this plan."

"There's always a way out of a trap."

"Not if you're dead."

"Don't be like that."

"You said that earlier." He turned to her and grinned.

"What?"

"Earlier. When we were talking about your mum. You said, 'Don't be like that.'"

"Yeah. So?"

He continued to smile. "It's like we've come full circle, except now we're in a cell and, despite this body's gift of gab, I really don't know how to talk my way out of this one."

Rose didn't know how to answer. After a moment, the Doctor said, "I'm hungry."

"Think they'll feed us?"

"Maybe. Hopefully."

"Think they'll turn the heat up?"

"Doubt it."

Rose shivered. "It's the middle of December, we're in an abandoned hospital, and there's no heating."

The Doctor looked up. "But there's power," he said. "There must be power coming from somewhere, because that door was electrified."

"So what does that mean for us?"

"It means I can't reroute the power because I haven't got my screwdriver," he said.

"Oh."

There was another long silence. "Why is that cage in the middle of the room?" Rose said.

"I don't know," the Doctor replied, but Rose was certain he did.

"Tell me. Why?" The Doctor merely shrugged and avoided her gaze.

Rose decided to change the subject. "Do you mind if snuggle up to you for warmth?"

He looked at her, then put his arm around her and for the second time that day pulled her to him.

"You know," she said, "if I had to be stuck in a cell with anyone…I'm glad it's you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Is that only because I let you snuggle?"

"Probably," she joked. "For a dead man, you are quite warm."

"Oh, have we already gotten to the point where we can joke about my death?"

"Hmm, dunno."

"I'll have you know that felt awful!"

"I'm really sorry about that," she said seriously, pulling away to look him in the eye. "I was so scared. I just—froze up."

"But you pulled me away from the door."

"Not soon enough."

"But you did."

"I wish it'd been me who touched the door."

"It would've killed you."

"It killed you!"

"True. But I can regenerate."

"You didn't regenerate, though."

"I survived, didn't I?"

"Only because what's-his-face—Paul—saved you."

"They want us alive," the Doctor mused. "That's either very good or very bad."

"From where I'm sitting it sounds good," Rose said. "You're alive."

"I'm alive, but only so long as I'm useful to them."

"What d'you think they want from us? It has to be the TARDIS, yeah?"

"They've got the TARDIS upstairs. They could just take our keys from us and kill us."

"They don't know how to fly it," Rose said.

"That might be it…. 'Course, it might be something biological. Blood samples, that sort of thing. Change the human race using the last Time Lord."

"But why all the threats? And why am I here?"

"Did you ever read the book _Slaughterhouse Five_?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason," he said.

"Why'd they take my mum?" Rose asked.

"I assume it was to lure me here. What I want to know is, how did they know that I was in London? Also, how did they know we were going to be at the flat? They must have been hoping we would follow them here, follow clues or signals…they were expecting us. They were ready for us when we got out of the TARDIS, they said they know who we are, and they know I have two hearts…. They didn't find it necessary to leave hints about their location for us to follow, so they're not underestimating me, as far as I can tell…." He ran his fingers through his hair. "They know too much. _How_? How do they know so much?"

"They'll tell us," Rose said.

"Why do you say that?"

"They'll want to brag. Don't you think?"

"Very good point."

"So, how long are they going to keep us here?"

"_Well_…. As long as it takes."

"Until…?"

"Until we break? Until we're out of the way long enough? For all we know, this could be a plot to keep me busy while they stir up trouble elsewhere."

"Yeah…" Rose said thoughtfully. "You know, I kind of prefer that option."

"Even if they're out murdering half of the Earth's population?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows.

"No, 'course not. But I'd rather not be someone they're focusing on."

"Meaning what?"

Rose shifted on the bench. "Meaning I don't want that slime's hands anywhere near me."

Impulsively, the Doctor's arm tightened around her. "I won't let that happen," he said.

They sat leaning against each other in silence for a long time. Rose felt herself nodding off and tried to stay awake. It was important. They were prisoners. She had to stay alert. She had to keep her wits about her. In the end, though, she slipped into sleep and dreamt.

_Rose dreamed that she was being chased. She hurried through a crowd. They all knew. Everyone there. She hid her face under the hood of her jacket. Still, they kept glancing at her, recognizing her for what she was.  
One man reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. "Show me your eyes," he said. She ran. There was a river, and she swam across it. But she couldn't get out of the water; the old woman on the other side of the river shook her head with a smile and gestured to the pile of teddy bears next to her on the bank of the river. "I need an offering," she said.  
And then Rose was in a factory with a little boy, and the boy was frightened. She promised that she would help to hide him. Took him by the hand and ran into the street, looking for a safe place. The orphanage. She would take him to the girls' orphanage. She ran up the steps with him and pushed her way in, hurrying through corridors and looking for hiding places. "They're coming," the boy said. She opened a cupboard. Blankets. It would have to do. Lifted him up. Placed him inside. Shut the door. But there was nowhere for her to hide, and now they would find her. No place was safe._

Rose woke with a start. She was freezing and for a moment she wondered why. Was she outdoors? She opened her eyes and remembered everything—her mother's absence, their capture, the Doctor electrocuted…. She was still in the cage with the Doctor, who was pacing around the cramped space. At some point while she slept he must have laid her down on the bed without waking her. She sat up, and the movement caught his eye; he stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You okay?" he said.

She nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Fine."

"Hearts still beating?"

"As well as they ever did."

"Do you want the bed?"

"I won't sleep."

"Do you want it anyway?" He shook his head. She got up and stood by the bars. She had nothing with which to pick the lock, and she didn't think she'd be able to anyway. They were very much trapped in here.

Rose turned to the Doctor, about to ask him a question, when the door to the room swung open. Paul entered, followed by Alan. Both carried large canvas bags that clinked with each step. The Doctor and Rose watched apprehensively as the two men set their bags down in the centre of the room. Alan moved to the door of their cell and unlocked it. Paul marched inside and grabbed the Doctor, who expressed his discomfort at being dragged out of the cell and brought to stand in front of the smaller one. Alan winked at Rose and locked the door again. She gripped the bars and pressed her face through them, terrified. What were they going to do to the Doctor?

"We're gonna start nice and easy today, Doctor," Paul said, a smirk crossing his face.

"Start with what? What do you want?" the Doctor said, the words coming out in a rush.

"Blindfold, Alan," Paul said.

"What are you going to do to me?" the Doctor asked, his voice not quite succeeding in hiding his fear.

"We're going to teach you something," Paul smiled. "We're going to teach you to obey."

"Torture," the Doctor said.

"Ha. I love the part when they get it," Alan laughed, playing with his beard.

"What do you _want_? Just tell me what you want. It's easier for all of us."

"First things first, Doctor. Alan! Blindfold!"

"Oh." Alan stuffed his hand into his pocket and withdrew a length of black fabric. Paul took it and reached up to the Doctor's face. "If you try anything," he muttered in his ear, "we're gonna hurt your little friend." The Doctor stiffened and held still while the cloth was tied around his eyes.

"Where's her mother?" he muttered.

"She's safe," Paul's voice answered through the darkness.

"Uh…why the blindfold?" the Doctor asked nervously.

"Heightens the senses," he heard Alan reply. Hands steered him forward, and he realised he was being led into the cage.

"And now," Paul said, "we begin."


	4. Bruises

Alan had been right. The blindfold did heighten the senses. Every sound made the Doctor flinch. Every blow was felt more acutely. And there was fear. Fear of the next strike. Fear from not knowing when he was going to be hit or where on his body the pain would stab and spread. He was in the dark, straining his ears to make up for his lost eyesight, his skin tingling as he awaited the damage to his body.

The first few blows had been bearable. He was the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, he had saved the universe ten times over. He clenched his teeth and made no sound as the fists and the heavy boots pounded against his flesh and bones. Alan was in there with him. Alan, kicking him. At least, he thought it was Alan. He prayed that Paul was standing outside the cell watching instead of punishing Rose. He hoped that this was entertainment enough for that vile man.

And that's what it was, or so he convinced himself. Punishment. This was what he deserved. Rose had been right, he was responsible for too many deaths and too many unhealed wounds. He knew she hadn't meant it, that she had said it in anger, but there it was, nagging, itching through his mind, polluting his thoughts. He took a masochistic satisfaction in being punished. In a way, he had been waiting for this. So many regrets, so many who no doubt craved this chance to hurt him. Wasn't this for the best? Wasn't it right, that he feel some of that pain? Emotional pain had been with him for too long; now it was time for it to manifest itself through injury.

But it hurt like hell.

Alan's boot slammed into him again. And again. It struck his back, his ribs. He didn't cry out, but the pain was beginning to be too much and his jaw ached with the effort of remaining silent. By this point he was on the ground, curled up in a futile attempt to protect his aching body. Tears leaked from his eyes, hidden by the blindfold. His flesh stung and throbbed all over.

He could hear Rose yelling, shouting at them to stop, that that was enough. Somehow, her voice sounded so far away…. She was begging them, her voice breaking with emotion…. He almost smiled at that: Rose Tyler, trying so hard to protect him from within her own prison. Even if it meant that they would turn on her. She really was terribly brave. As Alan dragged him upright to deliver a punch to his solar plexus and the air was driven from his lungs, leaving him gasping on his hands and knees, he thought of Rose and how they had met. How lucky he had been to find her. How he had needed her but hadn't realised it until later. There were so many things that it had taken him such a very long time to understand….

The blows had stopped. Still struggling to breathe, he listened for a rustle of clothing, anything, to indicate a continuation of the torture. Nothing. Nothing but a jangle of keys and the click of a lock. The blindfold was ripped from his face, and he flinched. Slowly, his chest heaving, he dared to look up at his tormenter.

"Oh, well, that wasn't so bad," he said.

Alan pulled at his beard. "Paul?" he said, smirking.

Paul stepped up to stand behind his partner. "He hasn't learned. Another day," he drawled.

Alan shook out his hands and cracked his knuckles. "God, 'm dyin' for a fag," he said. He withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and, after some fumbling, a lighter. He lit the cigarette and drew a breath, blowing a stream of smoke into the Doctor's face. The Doctor turned his head, disgusted. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Rose, clutching at the bars of her cell and looking deadly.

"Are you finished?" he said. "Thing is, I'd quite like to sit on that bed over there."

Alan looked at Paul, who shrugged. "Put him in with the girl," Paul said. Alan motioned for the Doctor to walk ahead of him and, upon reaching the door of the larger cell, thrust him within and locked the door behind him.

"No chance of a meal, I suppose?" the Doctor asked hopefully, watching the two men leave.

"Nighty night!" Alan said in response, and the door slammed behind them. The instant they were out of sight, Rose rushed to his side and led him by the arm to the bed, feeling an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu from having done the same action earlier. He followed her shakily, feeling awful. Every inch of his body hurt. His head pounded. He felt the bruises every time he took a breath. He sat down and slumped onto his side, curling up on the bed. Rose knelt in front of him.

"Tell me you're all right," she said, her eyes wide.

"You're not looking for honesty, are you?" he said, his eyes closed. He felt a hand on his and opened his eyes. Rose looked positively petrified. "I'm fine," he said, managing a smile.

Some of the tension left her body, but her face still showed deep concern. It pained him to see her like this. He repositioned his hand and slid his fingers through hers. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Just sore."

"He didn't break anything, did he?"

"No. Just bruises and swelling."

"Is there anythin' I can do?"

"An ice pack would be nice."

"I haven't got one of those."

"Kiss to make it all better?"

Rose laughed. "Did they say that on Gallifrey as well, or have you just picked it up on Earth?"

He smiled. "Just Earth."

"I don't know if I have the magic touch, but I can give it a go."

He pointed to his thigh. "Can I have one for my leg?"

She looked at it, brushed some dirt off his trousers, and, laughing, planted a kiss where he had indicated. "Amazing!" the Doctor crowed. "Works a charm. The magic kiss makes it all better."

"Anywhere else?"

"Shoulder."

"Which one?"

"Left." She kissed that as well. "No, up a bit." She kissed it again. "Ahh, perfect."

"All right, Mister, I'm running out of magic kisses so you're going to have to make them count."

He hesitated, looked her in the eyes, and looked away. "My ribs," he said.

"May I?" He glanced down and nodded. With delicate fingers Rose lifted his coat and the shirt beneath it to examine the damage.

She sucked in a breath. "It's already purple," she said. She prodded the swollen area lightly with one finger.

"Ouch."

"Sorry." He felt her hot breath on his ribs and the softness of her full lips pressed against his skin. He shuddered.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked anxiously. He shook his head mutely, his eyes fixated on the far wall. She brushed his swollen ribs gently with her fingers, and for a moment he allowed himself to think that he could endure this pain forever, if only she wouldn't stop. But to admit it…he couldn't. At that moment he was glad he was lying on his side and not on his back.

The fingers moved away, and a horrible emptiness swiftly overcame him. Horrible. It was horrible. He swallowed and blinked back a strange, sharp tingling in his eyes. "Don't," he said in a small voice.

"Doctor?"

It was too much. He couldn't look at her. He didn't want to say it but he couldn't not say it, not with this horrible, lonely emptiness. It was all so dark and painful and then there she was, his Rose Tyler, so brave and kind and gentle. "Don't stop," he choked.

His shoulders shook, and before he could stop them the tears were falling, trailing down his nose and over his cheek to fall on that unyielding mattress. He sensed Rose's alarm, though he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. She brought her fingers hesitantly to his cheek and rested them there. He could feel them trembling slightly. Barely there, like butterflies against his skin. They moved across his cheeks and under his closed eyes, brushing away the tears. He shuddered again and gulped air, swallowed sobs wracking his aching body.

"Doctor, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm so sorry," Rose's voice said, thick with emotion. His tears frightened her, he could tell. He shook his head, his lips trembling and catching a tear. "Is it the pain?" she asked. Again, he shook his head. "What is it? Tell me what's wrong."

He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to speak, opening and closing his mouth before finally managing, "I'm—I'm—I'm l-l-l-_lonely_."

"Oh, no. No, Doctor," she said, her voice hushed. "No, no." She brushed his hair back with her fingers, caressing, her fingers slowly running through his hair again and again. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you." She ran a fingertip over the tip of his ear, ran her fingers down his neck. He sniffed and tried to bring himself under control. "Come on. Okay. Take deep breaths. That's it."

She kissed his forehead. His hand. Rubbed what she could reach of his back. He cried out at the pressure on the mass of bruises that was his back, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

"Doctor," she said quietly. "Can you sit up?" He wiped his face with one large hand and pushed himself upright with the other.

"I'm going to take a look at your back." She unbuttoned his jacket and he pulled his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. He turned his back towards her and she carefully lifted the two layers. He heard her breath catch.

"I don't think I have enough magic kisses for this," she said quietly.

"You could always give it a go anyway."

Rose pressed her hand to her lips and trailed the hand over the surface of his back as gently as she possibly could. "There are a few cuts," she said. "The skin broke when he kicked you."

"Not still bleeding, are they?"

"No. The blood's all dried. Looks a mess, though. I wish we had something I could clean you up with."

"It's fine." He sniffed and used a sleeve to wipe his nose.

"Let me see the rest of it," she said.

"You saw it all happen."

"Just let me see."

"I'd rather you didn't," he said firmly. She dropped her hands. "Okay," she said. She tugged his shirt back down, sat on the bed beside him, and took his hand. He looked down at their hands entwined, then at her.

"You should never feel alone," she said seriously.

"My planet's gone," he said.

"Yeah. But I'm still here. Right next to you. And I always will be."

"Always?"

"Always. If that's all right."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

They sat together, neither moving. They didn't need to speak—there was nothing to say. The Doctor stared at the smaller cage and thought. Why were they here? What did these men want with them? Who was behind all this? He found it hard to believe that Paul and Alan had the knowledge or wits to have planned this all. Had they been hired by someone? Men like these, cruel men, were easy to bribe. They would do anything for pay. The real question was that regarding their purpose. Thus far, they had asked no questions. They had made no demands. There didn't seem to be a point behind the torture, other than sick pleasure. He was the baited bear. Tuppence to see the bear dance, sirs?

Or perhaps this was just a lead-in to the interrogation that was to come. They had said that they would teach him to obey. The question was, what orders would he be obeying? And maybe it was for the best that he obey. Pretend to break. Beg them to stop. Not for his sake, but for Rose's and Jackie's. If the sport wasn't entertaining enough for their captors, surely they would turn to a new form of entertainment. His stomach twisted at the thought. There were few things he feared as much as that. If they hurt his family—because that's what Rose and Jackie were now, his family, whether he wanted one or not—he honestly didn't know for sure how he would handle that. He felt that he ought never to expose to himself that threatened, protective part of his personality. Moments of pure rage could turn a person into an animal. A murderer, even. That's not who he wanted to be. Gallifrey and the Time War had taught him that.

One thing was certain. The torture was not over. Paul had said that there would be another day, and that could only mean another day of "lessons." And the second day would be worse than the first. Already bruised skin would split. If he showed no signs of breaking, the torment would become more creative. It might not be a matter of him pretending to break at all; the pain might become too much. And Rose, poor Rose, having to watch as the men had intended. The cage in the centre of the room, a stage with an audience. She would see every blow, hear them pounding against his body, maybe hear him scream…. He had only ever wanted to be strong for her. For himself, but also for her. And he was strong. He had done so many things, not always without fear but without backing down. He had done what was right. Even when it meant destroying his planet and his people, he had done what was right. He had always been strong, hadn't he?

The Doctor debated whether or not to prepare Rose for what was to come. But she knew. She must know. He wondered if he ought to tell her that he was considering faking cries and pleas, to keep them safe…. Then, even if the cries were real, she could be less afraid. She could feel safer. She didn't have to know whether they were real or not….

He began to wonder if his thought process was even making sense. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was all pointless.

"Do you want to sleep?" he said.

"I wonder what time it is…."

"About ten thirty-one." She raised her eyebrows. "Time Lord," he reminded her.

"Nothing else to do in here. Guess we might as well," Rose said. "Unless you want to talk?" She looked at him worriedly, and he knew that she was still thinking of his earlier emotional breakdown.

"No. Let's just sleep." He slid off the bed and sat himself on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you the bed," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, you're not. You're taking the bed."

"Rose, just go to sleep."

"But—"

"Go to sleep."

"You do realise you were tortured earlier, don't you?"

"Just a bar fight, nothing more. Go to sleep."

"A blindfolded, one-sided bar fight in a cage?"

"Rose, don't do this."

"If you're sleeping on the ground, then so am I."

"Rose, come on."

She pressed her lips together and joined him on the floor. "G'night, Doctor," she said, lying down and curling up in fetal position with her back to him.

"Don't."

"Too late," she said, her voice muffled. "We can't both fit on the bed, and you're too busy bein' a gentleman to use common sense."

"The ground is colder than the bed. It'll leech your body heat."

"Yeah, well, it'll leech yours too."

"I'm a Time Lord; I have superior biology."

"Yeah, yeah."

"All right, you know what? I will only get on the bed if you get on it with me."

She whipped her head around to stare at him. "What?"

"Not like that," he said quickly. "On our sides. Nothing like that. It'll be—close, you know, but…."

"What, you mean like chaste spooning?"

"If you won't take the bed…. Look, I just want you to be comfortable."

"Sure you do," she said, a grin spreading across her face.

"Rose, I'm being serious."

"Serious spooning," she said, the grin widening.

"Okay, fine. We'll sleep on the ground. Both of us. Making no sense whatsoever. If that's what you want."

"That's not what I want," she said, "I want you to take the bed."

"Does this really have to be so difficult?"

"I think it's easier facin' down monsters than talking you into sleepin' on that bed."

"Right. Here we go." He stood, bent down, and scooped Rose up in his arms. She squealed and laughed as he carried her to the bed and plopped her onto it. He turned to settle himself on the ground again, but her hand grabbed his coat and she tugged, hard. He lost his balance and fell against her on the bed, where she almost succeeded in catching him.

"You sure?" he said. "This isn't weird for you?"

"No." She wrapped her arms around him and scooted against the wall. "It's not weird for me. Is it weird for you?"

He faltered. "Nah," he said.

They fell asleep pressed against each other, Rose with her arms around his chest, her head buried in his shoulder. His body still ached, but he thought it didn't matter if he could stay like this. The loneliness had subsided. He felt peace.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey, you know what? My birthday is on the 19th. You know what would be a great birthday present? If you review the story thus far. You know why? Because it makes me happy and lets me know that you didn't read this by accident, toss it aside, and say, "Meh, what a crappy story." Keep authors happy! Review!  
More whump to come. Think you can handle it?


	5. The Doctor's Choice

**Author's note**: Apologies for the recent writer's block. Here's hoping I rated this correctly and I'm not getting too explicit; I do my best to abide by the rules.

* * *

Rose woke with her arms still wrapped around the Doctor's chest. There was a strange noise... Was someone giggling? She opened her eyes to the gloom of the basement, where without a watch she couldn't tell if it was day or night. She had thought at first, in her half-conscious state, that the noise she had heard was the Doctor laughing in his sleep. Then she looked past the bars. Alan. That stupid little man. That foolish, foolish man. He was leering at them through the bars, like they were animals at the zoo. Seeing that she was awake, he took it upon himself to make obscene gestures at her, no doubt inspired by her position on the bed with the Doctor.

"Doctor," she whispered, squeezing his shoulder.

"Mmf," he mumbled without waking.

"_Doctor_," she hissed. He stirred and stiffened, and she knew that he had seen Alan there.

"You ready for another day of this?" he said, quietly enough that Alan couldn't hear.

"Oh, you bet," she said sarcastically.

"Whatever happens…" he said in the same low voice, but didn't finish his thought. He pushed himself upright, got to his feet, and stretched. "Morning!" he said to their audience, striding to the bars.

"So polite," Alan said snidely.

"And how are we feeling today, Doctor?" Paul said, stepping out of the shadows to stand at the bars with his colleague.

In truth, the Doctor felt terrible. His head hurt and his body hurt and his limbs were stiff from the night spent on the hard bed. "Oh, you know. A bit sore. I could use a bathroom. Breakfast would be nice, too. I don't suppose there's a warm shower, a breakfast buffet, and a bathroom in this hotel?"

"So _funny_," Alan said.

"Not exactly five stars, is it, Rose? How about just the breakfast and bathroom?"

He was met with silence. "Well, don't be complaining when you punch me in the gut and I can't control my bladder."

Alan and Paul exchanged a glance. Alan shrugged. "Cuff him," Paul said.

"What? What for?" the Doctor said.

"So you won't be runnin' off," Paul said.

"Running—oh, so I do get to use the bathroom, then? Excellent. And here I thought you were going to make me use a bedpan in front of Rose."

"Uhh…can I…?" Rose asked awkwardly.

"What?" Paul said.

"Can I come too?"

"No one ever mentions this bit when they talk about keeping prisoners," Paul growled, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, well, people have needs," Rose muttered.

"You go, but not together," Paul said. "Him first. Then the girl."

"She comes with me," the Doctor said.

"She really doesn't," Paul replied.

"Then how do I know that you won't harm her?"

"Who said you needed to know?"

"If you lay a single finger on her, I won't cooperate," the Doctor threatened, his voice icy.

"Oh, but Doctor," Paul said, smirking. "We don't need you to cooperate. We just need you to learn."

"Tell me what you want!" the Doctor shouted in frustration.

"Alan, get the door," Paul said. Alan unlocked the door of the cell and pointed to the Doctor, beckoning for him to come out. "No sudden moves, Doctor. We've still got your girl and her mother. Wouldn't want anything to happen to them. So many accidents happen in winter, don't they? People…slip on ice and break their necks. Such a shame. Tragic, even."

"You let my mother go!" Rose shouted. "She's got nothing to do with anything!"

"She's useful to us," Paul said.

"She'll be pleased to know that someone thinks so," the Doctor muttered.

"Why?" Rose said. "What use do you have for her? She doesn't know anything, why do you need her?"

"To keep you two in line," Paul said, that smirk crawling back into place on his face.

"Let her go!" Rose begged. "At least let me see her."

Paul ignored her and faced the Doctor. "Out. Now. Or you get to hold it for the next twelve hours."

The Doctor turned to Rose and gave her a look. She was sure it was significant. Probably meant to reassure her, but she was too frightened for her mother to be certain; she was having trouble concentrating. None of this made any sense and their captors weren't telling them anything. He held her gaze, then stepped out of the cell and allowed Alan to handcuff him.

"Hang on, wait a second!" he protested. "I'm going to need my hands in front, not behind my back!" Alan glared at him and paused to pull the Doctor's hands forward before cuffing them. They were halfway to the door when the Doctor noticed something. It was dark and hidden away in the corner, he supposed that's why he hadn't noticed it before, but…there was a tiny camera mounted on the wall, pointed at the centre of the room. Like a security camera to prevent shoplifting. Except, of course, that he knew what it was for. Or he thought he did.

"What?" Alan said, noting the Doctor's pace slowing as he examined the camera. They stopped.

"That," the Doctor said, pointing.

"Do you like it?" Alan said. "Hello!" He waved to the camera.

"Is it turned on?"

"'Course it is, what kind of person installs a camera and leaves it off?" Alan said. Paul elbowed him and gave him a warning look.

"So who's watching?"

"Nobody," Paul said.

"But this lump here waved to someone."

"He waved to nobody. It's being recorded."

"What, right now?"

Paul seemed confused. "Yeah."

"Why record it right now if there's nobody watching? You two are in here. And nothing's happening right now. No torture, no interrogation. Just bathroom escort duty. Am I right?"

"Security reasons," Paul said.

"What security? We're locked in there without tools or weapons, and you've got the door electrified, presumably whenever you're not in the room. You don't need a camera for that."

"Is he makin' any kind of sense to you?" Paul said to Alan. Alan shrugged.

"And another thing," the Doctor continued, "if you were watching us all the time then there would be another camera pointed at us when we're locked up in there." He gestured with his bound hands to the larger cell and swept the room with his eyes. "And yet…I don't see one, do you?" The captors stared at him, still not comprehending. "So I'll ask you again: who's watching?"

"Never you mind," said Paul, looking uncomfortable and slightly confused, unable to fully follow the Doctor's logic.

"Aha! So there is someone watching! A third bully, maybe? Or, more likely, your employer. Am I right?"

"Shut it," Paul snarled, pushing him forward to the door. To Rose's surprise, the Doctor obliged and the three of them marched out of the room. The door closed, buzzed, and left a jagged silence lingering in the air.

It was unnerving, being alone in that room. Rose had to wonder how many people had been locked up in here before them, and for what. She rested her head in her hands in frustration. They still didn't know why they were here. A better captor, she thought sardonically, would have told them what they were doing there right at the start. But now they had something, at least. They knew that Jackie wasn't involved. If they were to believe Paul, she had only been taken to lure them there. The Doctor had been right about that. And now she was a prisoner as a precaution. "To keep you two in line," Paul had said. Jackie was being held as a means of threatening them. A hostage to control the hostages. Any wrong moves and they would hurt her mother. Rose shouted in frustration and hit the wall, resulting only in a stinging palm.

But the Doctor's chatter hadn't been idle. She had to recognize that. He was slowly working it out. Thanks to him, they now knew that Paul and Alan were not in command. They were obeying orders. Of course, that wasn't to say that they were anything more or less than despicable thugs. It was obvious that they were enjoying themselves. Watching their captives squirm. The threats, the gestures, the infliction of pain…they loved it all. So who would hire two thugs to capture them and hold them here and, more importantly, to torture them? And what kind of person tortures someone without giving a reason? She thought for a moment that it was entertainment, or punishment, but whoever was behind all this hadn't made an appearance yet. Not to gloat or to watch the Doctor become a punching bag the day before. Nothing. It was like the person was waiting for something….

Rose sighed and tried to think, but it was all such a jumble and she couldn't make sense of it. Maybe the Doctor would have some ideas when he came back. She shifted on the bench. Her mouth was dry and she wished Paul and Alan had given them something to eat or drink, even if it was just a glass of water. The thought of food made her stomach twist with hunger. She wondered if her mother was faring any better. Jackie had mentioned dieting on one of their last visits…starvation in a cage was one way to lose weight, she supposed. Starvation, dehydration, torture—it was all looking so cheerful and upbeat.

Still, at least the Doctor was here. He would come up with something. He hadn't failed her yet. Rose stared at the ceiling. If only she hadn't said those hurtful things to him in the TARDIS.

The door opened, scraping against the ground, and Rose stood. She felt a little bit shaky from not having had anything to eat, but she was determined not to let her captors see it. The Doctor was escorted inside, hands still cuffed together in front of him.

"Lovely facilities," he said to her.

"Your turn, girlie," Paul said. "Make it quick."

The Doctor's handcuffs were removed and he was ushered into the cell. Rose stepped out and Alan clamped the cuffs around her wrists. She flexed her hands.

"You gonna stand there all day? Move it," Paul snapped. They left, Rose in the lead. They climbed the stairs and Rose was told to walk through the doorway at the landing.

There were few things Rose would have liked better than to run right then, make a break for it. She thought there was a good chance that Beardy and Beefy here were carrying concealed weapons and would try to stop her, but she could run and she could run fast and if there was one tactic for survival she had learned with the Doctor it was that sometimes running was the best option. Except now she knew why they still had Jackie held captive somewhere, probably in this very building. She couldn't leave her mother to be punished by these men. If she ran, they would hurt Jackie. It was an effective threat. But if she ran, then she could find a way to get the Doctor and her mother out. She could get help, maybe not from the cops but from _somebody_. Mickey. Mickey would help her, of course he would. That is, unless they had gotten him too. They hadn't mentioned Mickey, but they knew a worrying amount about her and the Doctor. They had known enough to go after Jackie.

If she ran now, she could get out of the abandoned hospital and they would probably chase her, wouldn't they? They seemed to need her for something. How far would they chase after her? She could hide, double back, rescue the others while Paul and Alan were still out looking. But the more she thought about it, the less faith she had in her plan. What would the Doctor do? He hadn't gotten away, probably hadn't even tried. Was he hoping she would take the chance? She remembered the look he had given her earlier. If he had run…well, Alan and Paul had said that Jackie was a prisoner to keep them in line. If the Doctor left, they would hurt Rose and Jackie. If Rose left, they would hurt the Doctor and Jackie. But what if the Doctor had been trying to tell her something with that look? What if he was trying to communicate that it was worth it? That they could handle it?

But now they were outside the bathroom and she had no choice but to enter the door. She did her business as quickly as possible but didn't flush, to buy her more time. No doubt the two men outside were waiting for the sound of the toilet flushing so they could escort her back to her prison. She left the stall and examined the bathroom. No windows. She cursed silently. Why couldn't she have been lucky enough to get a room with windows?

There had to be something. Something she could use as a weapon, maybe. She scanned the room. Not even a mop. Nothing.

"Come on, Rose," she said to herself. Exposed pipes? Anything.

There was only one thing she could use as a weapon. If she was going to get past Alan and Paul, she either had to knock them out, incapacitate them, or threaten them to make them back off. Unfortunately, it looked like it was going to have to be the latter. Rose slipped off one shoe and put a handcuffed hand inside it. She looked at herself in the mirror. Pale, wide-eyed, hair a mess. And then she slammed her shoe into her reflection.

The glass cracked but didn't break. She hit it again. This time, long cracks spread and a great deal of the mirror fell to the ground with a small crash.

"What's goin' on in there?" she heard one of the men shout from outside.

She scrabbled at the mirror with her fingers, tearing away a large piece of the sharp glass. Holding it in front of her with trembling hands, she positioned herself just outside the door.

The door burst open and Paul and Alan hurried inside. "Don't move!" she said, holding the glass threateningly.

"Oho!" Paul said. "The little girl's made 'erself something pointy!" He took a step towards her and she swung the glass at him. He stepped back, hands raised.

"You're going to get out of my way," Rose panted, "and you're gonna let me go."

"No, see, it doesn't work like that, girlie," Paul said. "You see, I've got something sharp as well." He reached behind him and pulled something from the waistband of his trousers. It was a knife. Not a large knife, but he clearly knew how to use it. He twirled it in his fingers.

"Ever stabbed a man, little girl?" he said softly. "I have. Feels strange in your hand, you know? Knife goes in, knife comes out."

"I'm warning you!" Her voice was shaking and her hands were shaking and she knew he could see the glass she held shaking.

"Of what?" His eyes narrowed. "Do you really intend to use that?" Alan guffawed. Suddenly Paul's foot shot out and connected with her wrist. She cried out and the shard of mirror dropped from her hands. Paul kicked it away and in one motion his knife was at her throat. She eyed it, breathing heavily. "You're going to come back, nice and quiet," he said, "and we're going to lock you up, and you're going to learn a lesson."

Rose lunged forward, biting down hard on Paul's hand and just missing the knife. Like she had dropped the glass, he dropped the knife in shock and shouted in pain and fury. She took her one chance and ran to the door, grabbing at the handle, but Paul recovered quickly and she felt him slam her against the door. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed her against the door with all of his weight, mashing her face against the hard surface.

"You don't do that," he growled. "You don't ever, ever do that." He pressed harder for emphasis, and she whimpered at the pressure.

"Alan!" he barked. "Pick up the knife. Use it on her if you have to."

She could hear Alan bending to obey, and then Paul dragged her back, opened the door, and shoved her outside. She was marched back down the stairs to the basement, Paul's fingers clutched around her hair the entire time, forcing her head back. His breath was hot on the back of her neck. They reached the basement and she was shoved against the outside of the larger of the two cages. The Doctor stared. The cuff around Rose's right wrist was unlocked, and Paul strung it through the bars and reattached it to her wrist, effectively trapping her there. She looked back at Paul, terrified. The Doctor came to the bars and gripped her fingers.

"You all right?" he said quietly. She nodded, but he wasn't convinced it was the truth. She looked petrified, and truth be told so was he. She was chained to the outside of the bars. Something horrible was going to happen.

Paul stepped up next to Rose. He trailed a finger through her hair. "Your little friend," he said without looking at the Doctor, "tried to get away. But _first_, she threatened me with a big hunk of glass. You know how I take to threats? Not well, Doctor." Rose shook and the Doctor clenched her hands more tightly through the bars.

"So here's what we're going to do," Paul continued. "We're going to give you a choice."

"Me?" the Doctor said, raising his eyebrows.

"Should make things interesting."

"What's the choice?"

Paul grinned. "Alan, you like the girl, don't you? Little Rose, with her blonde hair…."

The Doctor's eyes flicked to Alan, in time to watch Alan looking Rose up and down with a sickening grin on his face.

"In this job, Doctor, it can be difficult to have a steady relationship. You know? It's a sexually frustrating job." He turned to look at the Doctor and grinned widely. Alan stepped up behind Rose and the Doctor saw Alan's arm moving—Rose shrieked and jumped away from him.

"Do not touch her!" the Doctor shouted.

Alan laughed and Paul pressed a rough kiss to Rose's cheek. "Would you like to hear the other options?" Paul said. The Doctor glared at him, seething. "The other options are a bit less fun for us, but still rewarding, in their way."

"Rewarding," the Doctor said flatly.

"She gets hurt, no matter what. But you get to choose how."

"Do not hurt her. Hurt me, not her. _Do not touch her_."

"She gets hurt, Doctor. You can't stop that."

"She doesn't have to. Hurt me instead. Let me take the punishment."

Rose looked at him, shaking her head silently, mascara-streaked tears coursing down her face. Her lip trembled, and her fear was a kind of torment in itself to him. He didn't want her to be afraid. Not her. She was always so brave. He couldn't see her like this.

"Please," he said. "Do not hurt Rose. Please. I'm asking you. Look at me, I am _begging _you. Don't harm her." Rose's fingernails dug into his hands and she trembled harder.

"This goes one of two ways, Doctor," Paul said. "She gets hurt, or she gets hurt. It's just that one of them is slightly less…internal."

"You are vile," the Doctor spat. "You are a horrible, despicable human being."

Paul shrugged. "So, your choice. Do we hurt her, or do we…have some fun with her?"

The Doctor clenched his teeth and grabbed the bars. His knuckles were white. He couldn't get out of this. They wouldn't listen. He couldn't take her place, and he couldn't stand to let her be hurt. And the thought of Alan having his way with Rose—it disgusted him. It put an anger in his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time. The kind that closes the mind down and pumps the body with adrenaline. In that moment, he was all rage.

"You listen to me, you filth," he snarled, but Paul cut him off.

"You make your choice and you make it now, or we do both."

"You can't do this to people, it's not right!" the Doctor screamed.

"Doctor," Rose interjected in a small voice. "Do it."

His eyes snapped to her. "What?"

"Choose one. Please, just choose."

"I can't—I can't—_choose_, to have you hurt. I can't."

"Yeah," she said. "You can, or they'll do both."

"They might do both anyway."

"Great idea!" Paul exclaimed. "Hadn't thought of that. We could do both!"

"You said I had a choice!" the Doctor shouted.

"You aren't making one!" Paul shouted back.

"Just—" The Doctor shook his head. "Don't…rape her. Don't rape her."

"He chooses injury over sex," Paul said in a mock newscaster tone. "Sorry, Alan."

"You ruined all my fun," Alan said.

"Not all of it," Paul said.

The Doctor didn't reply. He couldn't even manage a scathing retort. He felt ashamed and guilty. He felt responsible for whatever they were going to do to her. He couldn't look Rose in the face. They were going to torture her, and he had chosen this.

Paul smiled at Rose. "You threatened me with a piece of glass. Thought you might slice me up some. How would you feel about being sliced up a bit, yourself? Hmm? Rose? Whaddaya say, Rosie?"

"It's not too bad, the knife," Alan said, holding up Paul's blade. "Hurts, but it could be worse."

"No," the Doctor said, lifting his head.

"No?" Paul said. The Doctor lowered his head again and remained silent. He stepped back from the bars.

"No to the knife, then," Paul said, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. "Alan, could you fetch me the, uh…eh?" Alan seemed to understand and hurried out the door.

Paul paced back and forth behind Rose. "I wanted you to be nice and close for this, Doctor. That other cage? Seemed too far away. You can't really appreciate the screams, the tears, those tiny little sobs." He made a comical frowny face. "All the stuff that really gets you into it, you know? Makes you feel a part of it. I want you to feel that." The Doctor still did not answer. "Not talking to me? Are you mad? Is somebody a grumpy grumps? Playing the silent game? Hmmm?" He cupped Rose's bottom in both hands and laughed as she shouted and tried to kick him.

"Get off me, you _animal!_" she yelled.

Alan returned. Rose turned her head as far as she could to see what he was carrying: it was a crowbar. A hiccup of a gasp rose in her throat.

"Thank you, Alan," Paul said. He took the crowbar from his colleague.

"Now, Doctor, I want you to watch this. This is what happens when people try to get away. This is what happens to people who try to stand up against people like me. They get hurt." His face curled into a snarl, and in one motion he lifted the crowbar to his shoulder and brought it down on Rose's wrist. The same wrist he had kicked earlier, in the bathroom.

There was a snap, and Rose screamed. The Doctor had heard her scream in fear, in alarm, but he had never heard her scream like this. This was terrible. It tore him apart. He felt the scream in his hearts. It penetrated the air—such a horrible noise. The scream tapered off into moans and sharp sobs that struck the Doctor like physical blows. He couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see her cradling her broken wrist. He didn't want to see the tears or the pain on her face. He didn't think he could face that.

Alan unlocked the handcuffs and the door of the cell, and Rose, crying, walked inside of her own accord.


	6. Broken

**Author's note:** In the original draft of this chapter the Doctor and Rose had a brief snog. Until I decided it wasn't right (i.e. decided to cut the crap) and took it out. Also, at one point I was trying to type "but then" and accidentally wrote "butthen" and now am wondering what a butt hen is. There's probably a planet or alternate universe where butt hens are real. And that frightens me. Anyway, look out for the part where I wrote "but then" and know that my typo could very easily have gone unnoticed and been left as butthen. Enjoy that knowledge. Knowledge is power.

* * *

There was a part of the Doctor that wished Alan and Paul were still in the room so he wouldn't have to face Rose. Maybe not Paul, but Alan would do. Just so the silence wouldn't be unbearable. So he wouldn't have to talk, or come to grips with what he had done. He could have stopped all this. He could have been more careful when they arrived. He had tried to stop Rose from coming, but she had been so obstinate and now here he was, listening to her tears. He had to say something, yet acknowledging her at this moment was a horrible prospect to him. But it was his duty. It was more than his duty. She had to know, had to understand, how sorry he was.

How do you communicate a thought so big? He made his way to the bed and sat next to her. He didn't want to do it, didn't want to speak to her. Sometimes the worst moments are those when words won't come and nothing can be done about it.

"Rose."

She sniffed and out of the corner of his eye he could see her turn her head to face him, but still he couldn't look at her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." She didn't respond. A heavy, burning shame pooled in his stomach and etched its way along his veins.

Out of the silence she spoke. "You said that they would try to break us," she said. "I guess I was kinda hoping it wouldn't be so literal."

"I promised your mother I'd keep you safe. Protect you. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"And I knew what I was getting into."

"No, you didn't."

"No," she said quietly.

"Neither of us did."

Another silence spread.

"I think I prefer the aliens to the humans. You must think we're horrible," Rose said.

"Why would I think that?"

She almost laughed. "They're hurting us for sport," she said.

"Every planet has cruel people. If a dog bites you, do you hate all dogs?"

"This planet's people seem crueler than most."

"You haven't met the Sontarans."

"I don't think I want to."

Nothing was said for a few minutes, and then the Doctor said hesitantly, "It's not all just good and bad. There are in betweens and so many—_so _many factors that make people the way they are. If you really want to have faith in the world—your world, or my world, or Raxacoricofallapatorius, or Sontar, or any other planet out there—you have to find the best of that world, and latch onto that, and try not to forget it when things get grim. Something to keep you centred and sane and remind you of who you are and who you want to be, so that when everyone else is showing you only who you don't want to be you know that somewhere nearby there's hope and there will always be hope. Light in the darkness, Rose." For the first time since she was injured, he turned to look at her. He took in the tear tracks on her cheeks, her tangled hair, the swelling right wrist that she held in her left hand. "To me," he said, feeling uncomfortable but knowing that he had to say it, "you are that light."

She blinked, and he looked past her at the wall, cursing himself for sounding so sentimental and ridiculous. What a stupid thing to put into words. But then she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder and he knew it had been right. And he had meant it, with both his hearts. Her constant presence beside him, her wit, her smile, her laugh, the way her hand fit in his, and her indomitable courage, all kept him from falling. He was so close to the edge, all the time, and Rose was his anchor that kept him from losing his balance.

"I'm sorry," he said. He realised he had already said it but he also knew that it had to be said again. He had to tell her.

"For this?" She gestured to her wrist with a slight inclination of her head. He swallowed and nodded.

"They would have done it anyway," she said.

"They wouldn't have done it at all if I hadn't brought you here."

"I asked to be brought."

The Doctor chuckled. "'Asked' is putting it lightly." He curled his arm around her and rested his hand lightly on her head. His thumb brushed against her hair, back and forth. The lightest touch. She exhaled slowly and held her damaged wrist.

"Thanks, by the way," she said, her head still nestled against his shoulder.

"For what?" he said, startled.

"For making the choice."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You said you wouldn't let them touch me, and you didn't."

He swallowed. "I couldn't watch them do that to you. I couldn't let you go through that."

"I don't think I ever could have looked at you again if you had seen them do that. I'd be too ashamed."

"Truth be told, I'm having trouble looking at you at the moment," he said.

"Why?" she said, her eyes rising to what she could see of his face. She reckoned she might be able to guess what he would say.

The Doctor took a breath. "I couldn't stop them from hurting you."

"Doctor," she said. He shifted his head and looked down at her. "There was nothing you could do."

"It's not just that. I _chose _what would happen to you."

She snorted. "Yeah, cos they weren't forcing you to or anything." She thought for a moment. "Why didn't you want them to use the knife?" she asked.

"I didn't want you to have scars. It's—I didn't want you to see those scars every day and remember what they did to you. I didn't want that reminder to stay with you, on your body. I didn't want—didn't want children on the streets to see those scars and say, 'Mummy, what happened to that girl.' I didn't want you to have a relationship with someone someday and have to explain to them why there are old knife wounds on your body. And I didn't want to look at you and be reminded of what I couldn't stop those men from doing to you."

"But my wrist—"

"Will heal. And it'll be perfect again, Rose, and you won't have to live with a visual reminder, every day. Because that changes people."

She didn't move or respond. Concerned, the Doctor loosened his arm from around her. "How bad is it?" he asked quietly.

"It hurts," she admitted. "A lot."

"Can I see it?" he asked. Her eyes flicked up to his. She bit her lip and shook her head. "Can I see it?" he repeated softly.

Rose hesitated. With slow, painful movements she lifted her injured hand with the other and held it towards the Doctor. He looked at her from beneath his eyebrows and carefully probed her wrist with the fingertips of both hands. She whimpered. "Sorry," he whispered. He continued to examine the bone with his fingers, feeling for the nature of the break. Rose's teeth clenched and she looked straight ahead, trying not to let him know how much it hurt, but she thought he must know.

"Is there any numbness in your fingers?" he asked. Rose shook her head. "Broken radius. No damage to the nerves. You're lucky, you know."

"Lucky?"

"Clean break. No nerve damage. And the bones aren't out of place. They don't need to be set, just bandaged. It's not pretty, setting bones without anaesthesia. People do it, but I'm sure they would prefer not to." His eyes met hers. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Do you want something for the pain?"

"You have some kind of painkiller hidden up your sleeve?" she said.

"In my pockets," he corrected. "Bigger on the inside."

"Seriously?"

"No. I'm kidding. But if you like, I can give it a kiss to make it all better."

Rose gave him a watery smile. "Yeah, I think I might need one of those." The Doctor bent his head over her swollen wrist and brushed his lips over the skin.

"Better?"

Rose laughed shakily. "No."

"I was kidding about the kiss as well," he said. "I'm not saying the kiss won't help, but I can boost your body's natural painkillers. If that's what you want."

"Can you really?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm the Endorphin Whisperer."

"Prove it," she said, her lips twitching in a small smile.

"Here. I'm going to give you your wrist back." The Doctor took his hands away from hers and lifted them to either side of her head, resting his fingertips on her temples and letting his thumbs splay against her cheeks. "Just relax." He closed his eyes and within moments Rose could feel the throbbing pain in her wrist fading to a bearable level.

"That's impressive," Rose said. The Doctor opened his eyes and withdrew his hands.

"Better now?"

"It's not that I don't like your magic kisses; it's just that your Spock mind trick works faster, I think."

A scraping sound came from the other side of the room and they watched as Alan entered the room carrying something in a plastic shopping bag. Rose noted that for once the Doctor had no cheeky comments or words of welcome. He remained silent while they watched Alan approach.

Alan held the bag up and shook it. "Happy Christmas," he said. "You get breakfast." Rose's stomach clenched in hunger at the words. Alan thrust the bag through the bars and let it drop to the ground. "Enjoy," he said.

He was turning to leave when the Doctor spoke up, sensing an opportunity to take advantage of Paul's absence and Alan's dimwittedness.

"So, Alan," he ventured. "Who was it who decided that we get a meal?"

Alan brought his fingers to his beard. "What?" he said, confused.

"Well, was it because of the goodness of your heart, or did your employer decide that it's a necessary part of the program?"

"Why's it matter?"

"Just humour me, Alan."

"He said he wanted you to have some food so you're not too weak."

"He? Who is he?"

Alan smirked. "All I can say is, he's not happy with you."

"Why? Why is he unhappy with me?"

"Not just you, Doctor," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "Both of you."

"Why? _Why?_" the Doctor demanded, but Alan had turned to leave and was already walking to the door.

"Bye-bye," he said with a wave, and then he left.

Rose stepped forward and picked up the bag. She brought it back to the bed, sat it in her lap, and sifted through it one-handed. Inside were an apple, a banana, and a single small bottle of water.

"It's not the best Christmas gift, but I've got something for you," Rose said to the Doctor. She handed him the banana. His face lit up and he took it, spinning it in his hands. Rose kept the apple for herself and placed the bottle of water between them. "Cheers," she said. They ate their meagre meal in silence, determined to savour every bite. It was by no means enough to satiate their hunger but it took their minds off the emptiness of their stomachs. They took turns sipping from the bottle of water.

"Doctor?" Rose said, having finished her apple.

"Yep?" He licked remnants of the banana from his fingertips and dropped the peel in the plastic bag.

"I meant to ask, but all that stuff from earlier, and my wrist…. How are you doing? After yesterday, I mean. It must still hurt."

"It does," he said lightly. "I won't say I'm not sore. But I'm okay. It's just bruises." He gave her a small smile.

"How are you keeping in such high spirits?"

"Not much of a choice, is there? It's this or go insane."

"Wish I could think like that."

"I'd say you're doing quite well, considering."

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "Considering they've got my mum, they've hurt my best friend, they broke my wrist, and we're trapped in a dungeon for Christmas."

"Hmmm, let's not make a list. Sounds depressing."

"It is depressing."

"Careful, Rose. You're slipping dangerously close to insanity," the Doctor warned her teasingly.

"Insanity is probably more interesting than sanity right now," Rose grumbled.

"Am I not interesting enough for you?" the Doctor said, putting on an exaggeratedly affronted expression.

"Oh, shut it," she said. He giggled slightly before clearing his throat to cover up the effeminate noise.

"So. Nothing to do but talk to each other," Rose said after a minute.

"A horrifying prospect," the Doctor said dramatically. She elbowed him. "Ouch. Bruise," he said.

"Sorry."

"You know, up until they broke your wrist they weren't doing a very good job of torturing us," he said. "They might be upping their game."

"Oh, brilliant. Do you think so?" Rose said.

"It's possible."

There was another silence. "Alan said that whoever planned this is unhappy with both of us. That means this person knows us from somewhere, doesn't it?" Rose asked.

"Sounds like it," the Doctor said. "The problem with time travel is, he might know us from the future." He sniffed. "We might not've met him yet."

"If we stay in this cage forever then he never will meet us."

"_Welllll_," the Doctor said, squinting his eyes. "Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey. It's not always that simple. Plus we don't know if we've met him already or not, so if I were you I wouldn't plan on staying in here forever."

"Tell you what. If one of us thinks of a way to get out of here, I'll agree to leave."

"Deal."

A minute or two passed before Rose said, "So, got any plans?"

"Nope," the Doctor said. "You?"

"Nope. Escape plan from earlier didn't exactly work out."

"Wrist doing okay?"

"Not too bad."

"Am I asking you that too often?"

"We're both checking too often. We're worried about each other." Rose shrugged.

Ten minutes of silence later, the door opened again and in filed Paul and Alan. Neither Rose nor the Doctor acknowledged them. They were both too tired and hurt. They had learned by now that their captors' presence typically meant pain and they watched with trepidation—or rather, the Doctor watched. Rose kept her eyes lowered, frightened after her ordeal from earlier. The Doctor thought he sensed her recoil against the wall. He wanted to reassure her, lie to her, tell her it was all right, but he wasn't a fool and neither was she; such phrases weren't going to work on her. He had thought that this would happen; that they would come back. From the sounds of things, whoever had hired the two thugs wanted the Doctor and Rose to feel a great deal of pain before all this was over. The game was to make them suffer. He—whoever "he" was—wasn't happy with them. It could indicate a desire for revenge. If not revenge, then perhaps a deep sadism. Either way, they were never meant to get through today without another round of torture. The idea was to break them to teach them a lesson, and even the Doctor could see that he wasn't giving out the impression of having learned. He had very little doubt that today would be worse than the day before. Something more than a beating. Something harsher that would last longer.

There was no avoiding it. He knew that. And so when Paul came to unlock the door of the cell he stood and stepped forward to meet him.

"Get it over with," he said simply.

He was led once more to the small cage where, facing away from Rose in the other, he was told to take off his shirt. Apprehensively, he did as he was told. No matter how bad this was going to be, it might ultimately save them. He had to give them what they wanted. The Doctor was tethered as Rose had been to the outside of the cage. Handcuffs were threaded through the bars and snapped around his wrists. He knew that Rose was watching and he tried to be brave. She was already afraid; she didn't need to be more so. But she would be. He knew she would be. Because this wasn't going to be pretty.

Alan pawed through the two heavy bags that had been left in the room the day before. The Doctor could have watched to see what was going to happen, but he thought he could guess and truth be told he wanted to see as little of this as possible. Seeing the weapon of choice would only make it worse. Something was handed to Paul. No one spoke. It was methodical and silent and horribly unnerving. The Doctor had to continually tell himself that it was necessary. That this would move things along. That if they were satisfied with his torture, he might be allowed to know more.

He would have been willing to bet his TARDIS that the camera in the corner was on right now. Filming him. Whoever was in control was almost certainly watching. This, too, was necessary. It had to be convincing and by god, it would be. If he was right in guessing the nature of today's pain, he wouldn't have to act to persuade them. It would all be very real. Every last inch of pain would be genuine.

The first time the whip cracked on his bare back, he clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. His back arched and stung. The second and third times were the same. It was on the fourth strike that he lost control of his voice and a cry tore from his throat. A cry that weakened his knees and flung his head back. The veins stood out in his neck and his fists gripped the bars until his fingers felt like stone. But the torment was far from over. The whip snapped down again and again until his back was torn and it felt as though fiery claws were stripping him of his flesh, digging and burning. In the end, he was screaming. Another voice was screaming as well. Rose. He couldn't think of her, not now. There was only the pain and the fire. There was nothing in this world but the unbearable agony of his back. The whip came down again and again and still he shouted. At one point, though he didn't remember it happening, his legs gave out and chained to the bars he fell slumped forward on his knees. The whip continued to lash against him, even then.

And then it was over. The fire seared at his back but no fresh gashes were made. The world was dimming and he lost consciousness before he even knew that he was fading.

* * *

**Author's note:** I'm fairly certain that we're going to meet the mastermind behind this operation in the next chapter. I'm also hoping that was the last time I have to torture anyone. We'll see what happens. You'll hear from me sometime after Christmas.


	7. Needs

"Funny, isn't it," Alan remarked as they left the room and began climbing the stairs. "Leaving him chained to the cage like that."

"Mitchell's orders," Paul said shortly. "Said it would hurt them more to be apart."

"How come he always tells you what to do but not me?" Alan whined.

"Because you're the stupid one."

Alan thought about this for a moment. "That's not nice."

"Since when have I been worried about being nice?"

"You're always bullying me. We're supposed to be partners," Alan said, frowning.

Paul snorted and stopped, swinging around to face Alan. "What are you, a ten-year-old boy? Jesus Christ. Get over it."

"Just asking for a bit of respect," Alan muttered under his breath.

"Jeeeeesus!" Paul exclaimed. "What is going on with you? Huh? What's this about, then?"

"Nothing," Alan said.

"Come on, spit it out."

"I said _nothing_," Alan repeated.

"Fine." Paul shrugged. "Have it your way." He resumed climbing the stairs.

They turned on a stairwell marked "**3**." Along the corridor they marched, passing a sign reading "Psychiatrics," and stopped outside the door of what was once an office. Paul knocked, opened the door, and entered the room.

"Done, sir," he said to the man seated within.

* * *

Rose sat with her knees against her chest on the floor of the cell. The Doctor was still unconscious, or perhaps he was awake but he hadn't moved and hadn't responded to her begging him to answer. She tried not to cry. Crying wouldn't help. She had cried enough in the last two days. But everything seemed so hopeless and brutal. Things had never been this bad. Had they? If they had, her mind was too preoccupied with current events to remember.

Of course they had. That day on Satellite Five, with the Daleks. He had sent her away so she would survive. So she would be the only survivor. Saved her and doomed himself. Sent her back to a life she didn't want and stayed behind to sacrifice himself for them all. It had torn her apart. It wasn't bearable. It wasn't possible, that everything could be so wretched. Yet there had been hope; she had the TARDIS, then. She had Mickey and her mum and the TARDIS.

Here she had none of these. Still, the realisation that they had survived worse gave her strength. It didn't fix the throbbing that ran through her entire arm, and it didn't change the state of the Doctor. But it was something, and she clung to it. They had made it off Satellite Five alive. They had made it back to Earth. That had survived the Sycorax invasion and the Doctor had recovered from his faulty regeneration. They were strong, she and him. She just had to remind herself of it.

She crawled to the bars and peered through them. The Doctor hadn't moved from the position in which he had collapsed. He was on his side, his bloodied back to her, his arms outstretched with the handcuffs still tethering him to the cage. Her heart pounded painfully at the sight of him like this. The bare skin of his back was torn and crimson. Mutilated, she thought. Her throat constricted. It was horrible.

"Oh, Doctor," she whispered sadly.

He twitched. Or, she thought he twitched. "Doctor?" she called. He didn't answer, but she could hear him breathing raggedly. Heavy breaths. It was the sound of his pain.

Rose curled the fingers of her good hand around one of the cold bars. "Doctor, please, please answer me," she said. There was no reply. His silence frightened her, yet she thought she understood. When Paul had broken her wrist just hours previously, the last thing she had wanted was to talk. And so she sat quietly and watched the subtle movements of the Doctor's ribcage as he breathed in and out.

* * *

Back in the psychiatric ward, the man called Mitchell watched a computer screen and drummed his fingers against a desk.

"He hasn't moved," he said. "Thirty minutes, and he hasn't budged an inch."

He leaned in towards the computer and enunciated clearly, "Audio One." Instantly, a voice emanated from the laptop's speakers: "Doctor? … Doctor, please, please answer me."

"Look at that," Mitchell said to the two men standing alert behind him. "Nothing. Not even for her."

"Probably moping," Paul said.

"But maybe not." Mitchell watched the screen for a moment longer. "One of you go poke him with a stick. Make sure he's alive."

"Oh, he's alive, boss," Paul said. "No doubt about that."

"Of course he's alive," Mitchell snapped. "I wasn't being serious. Just make sure he's conscious. Throw a bucket of water on him or something. I don't want him getting brain damage."

"Brain damage?" Paul said.

"Just do it! One of you, do it!" Mitchell shouted.

"You go," Paul said to Alan.

"Why me?"

"You know why you," Paul said.

"Boss—" Alan protested, but the look on Mitchell's face stopped him short. "Fine," Alan said. "_Fine_." He wrenched the door open and closed it behind him with a heavy snap.

* * *

Once more, the sound of the door opening interrupted Rose's thoughts. Her head snapped up and the movement jostled her wrist. She gritted her teeth. A splint sounded so nice right about now.

Alan's heavy footfalls preceded him into the room. He entered with a sour expression on his face and without pausing headed straight for the Doctor.

"You," he said, prodding the Doctor with his shoe. "Signs of life. Now." The Doctor did not move. "Wakey wakey!" Alan said loudly. He lifted one foot and slowly brought it down on the Doctor's slashed back, gradually increasing the pressure until the injured man shouted in pain. Fresh blood trickled from the wounds.

"Stop it!" Rose cried. "What are you doing? Stop it!"

"Orders from above," Alan said, removing his foot.

"Alan." Rose pressed her face between the bars. "Please. He needs treatment for that. It's going to get infected."

"So?"

"So if it gets infected then your employer won't have any fun. He'll get a fever. The Doctor, I mean. And then your employer's victorious entrance won't mean anythin' to him."

"We can make it mean something to him."

"He won't be in his right mind. Not if he gets a fever. And he will, if you don't treat his back."

"Maybe," Alan said with a vile grin, "maybe I just cauterise it and make everything nice and simple."

"Don't. Don't do that. You can't do that."

"And why not?"

"It'll hurt him!"

Alan snorted. "Like I care."

"You should care," Rose said.

He turned to look at her. "Why?"

"Because…" she began. She bit her lip. "Because if you care about me, then you'll do this."

"Care about you? I don't care."

"But you could have so much fun with me," Rose said. She cast her eyes down at the ground then looked at him from under her eyelashes. A picture of innocence and submission.

"What are you talking about?" Alan said suspiciously. He moved closer.

"We could do so many things," she murmured. "Naughty things. Things that Paul can't have." She ran one hand along her body, maintaining eye contact with him.

Alan took a quick step towards the bars, but Rose held up a finger. "Good things come at a price, Alan," she purred.

"What price?"

"Nothing much. Bandages…ointment…water. A blanket. Such simple things, Alan. If you got me those, I would give you something special in return."

"What would you give me?" he said.

Rose smiled sweetly. "The things I can do would make you twitch," she said. And indeed, something did twitch at her words, but in her disgust she couldn't look.

"Now," he said.

"No. When you get me those things."

"You might not give yourself to me."

"You might not get them for me."

"I might just take you right now," he growled.

"That's no fun at all." Rose stood and reached out to touch Alan's face. His beard was rough and oily and she had to force herself not to grimace at what she was doing. She trailed two fingers down his chin, his neck, passing over his chest and slowly coming to a halt just below his navel. He moaned.

"It's so easy," Rose murmured. "So, so easy." She removed her hand and retreated to the wall of her cell. Alan growled in frustration.

"But Alan, here's the thing. I can't today. It's my wrist. It hurts too much. I couldn't really get into it while my wrist hurts this much."

"Then what's the point?" Alan almost howled.

Rose ran her tongue over her parted lips seductively—or so she hoped. She forced herself to breathe heavily so he could see her heaving bosom. It was all such a foolish show, but this foolish man was buying it. She could tell he was. His trousers made that obvious. "The point is," she breathed, "I can make it worth it for you. Look at me." She pulled the zipper of her sweater down a couple of inches. "Do you believe me?"

A small whine escaped Alan's throat and he nodded. Then he frowned. "No!" he said heatedly.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked nervously.

"I'm not gonna fall for some stupid trick," he growled.

"Alan," Rose said, pressing herself against the wall. "There's no trick. I'm not saying I fancy you. Maybe I could, if I…." She let the sentence linger in the air unfinished. She glanced at her feet in an effort to appear shy. She lifted her head again to look Alan in the eyes. "I'm sayin' that if you do me a favour, I'll do one for you. And I can promise you won't regret it."

"I'm not supposed to be helping you," Alan said, anger still apparent on his face.

"You're probably not supposed to let me satisfy you, either. But here we are…." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm not—I'm not gonna—I won't help a prisoner!" he spluttered.

Rose shrugged and turned away to head to the bed.

"Hang on! Just—" Alan growled in frustration. "I'm not givin' you everything you asked for." He pointed a finger at her. "And I have an appointment in an hour, so I'm not getting it to you before tonight."

"Oh, but—send somebody else to deliver it," Rose said.

"Who's gonna deliver? You think this is a delivery service? We're busy!" Alan scoffed.

"Well, can't you…I mean…can't you go get it now and then go to your appointment?"

"Piss off," Alan said.

"I thought we were…you know…." Rose stepped to the bars. "I thought we understood each other." She reached her left hand through the bars and placed a hand on Alan's scruffy cheek. He shuffled closer, breathing loudly, and with her hand she guided his face to hers and kissed him on the lips, drawing him to her, their mouths pressed together. Alan's tongue darted into her mouth and, repulsed, she allowed it because she had to.

Rose pulled back and their lips broke apart. Panting, she retreated to the wall. "I need those things," she said. "Can you get them for me?"

Alan was clearly torn. Indecisiveness and frustration were written all over his face. He checked his watch and with his other hand adjusted his crotch. He stepped from foot to foot and groaned. Again, he checked his watch, as though trying to decide whether he had time to do one last thing….

"I want you. Now," he said, breathing heavily.

"We can't," Rose said. "My wrist. It hurts so much. And you have to be somewhere."

"I don't care," Alan whined. His hand slipped under the waistband of his trousers and Rose watched as he touched himself.

"We can't," she repeated.

"I need to," he panted.

"If you bring me what I need, we can have as much fun as you want. But not now. Okay?" It was like reasoning with a child. A reward for good behavior.

Alan gave one more glance at his watch and then, with a last look at Rose, strode from the room.

As soon as Alan was gone, Rose heard the Doctor shifting.

"What have you done?" he said weakly.

"I—nothing. What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

"Rose," the Doctor groaned. "You can't turn him away forever. How long do you think he'll accept your wrist excuse?"

"I'm doing this for you," Rose said, her cheeks reddening.

"And I'm saying this for you. He will rape you, Rose. He will _rape _you. And now you've given him permission to."

"He didn't need permission. If he wanted to so badly, he could have at any point."

"You gave him what he needed. You convinced him that it wouldn't be so bad to break the rules. Your agreement implies that you'll keep your mouth shut and won't go blabbing to Paul about what Alan did to you. Do you see?"

"He may be stupid, but I'm not. I know what I told him. I can keep him at bay long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

"For us to escape," Rose said.

"We don't know how long that will take."

"I'm working on it," Rose said.

They lapsed into silence, the Doctor with his back to her because of the handcuffs. Turning to face her would have been too painful anyway. He didn't want to move. Moving would stretch the skin of his back. What was left of it. He could feel the blood drying on his skin and all the while that fire tore and pounded and seared in his flesh. If they didn't get out of here soon…if it didn't heal properly…it might be better to regenerate once they were free rather than live for decades longer in a damaged body. But of course, that all depended on how well his flesh knitted itself back together.

He remembered what he had said to Rose earlier about scars and almost laughed at the irony. Now here he was, with his very own physical reminders. Scarred for life for the fun of two thugs and a hidden mastermind. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard the door scrape open again. He didn't bother to see who it was this time. His head was bowed, his eyes remained closed. Maybe Alan, back to take advantage of Rose. He admired her courage, knew that what she had done she did for his sake, but it had been foolish of her. More likely it was Paul, come to give him a second lashing. Perhaps another beating. It had been a while since that first beating.

Might as well get on with it.

The footsteps were softer than he expected. They shuffled against the concrete. And then he heard Rose yelp.

He started, thinking at first that she had been hurt. Something terrible was going to happen. Until he heard her strangled whisper of, "_Mum_."

The Doctor whipped his head around in spite of the surge of pain from his back as he did so. There she was. Jackie Tyler. Wide-eyed and pale and holding a bundle of items, which she promptly dropped. "Jackie," he breathed. She stood for a moment, as if not knowing what to do, and then it was as if something inside her broke or perhaps it healed or even just shifted into place, and she ran to Rose and held her as well as she could through the bars of the cage. Rose reciprocated one-armed.

As they clutched at each other, it occurred to the Doctor just how much the two of them needed one another. Rose had been all that Jackie had since Pete's death. And as for Jackie, Rose clearly loved her to pieces. And rightly so; Jackie had raised Rose all by herself. They needed each other. It couldn't have been clearer than at this moment.

"Oh my god, you're okay," Rose gasped.

"'Course I'm okay, sweetheart. 'Course I am. Don't you worry about me."

The Doctor turned back around to alleviate the pain of his back, but he listened intently to their conversation. It was a wonderful thing, hearing Jackie's voice after spending such a long time hearing Paul's and Alan's. Who would have thought that he would come to appreciate her voice? But he did. He really, truly did.

"Have they hurt you?" he heard Rose ask.

"No, I'm fine. They haven't laid a finger on me. Not since they kidnapped me."

"Then—what are they doing with you?"

"Nothing," Jackie said. "Put me in a room and let me watch telly all day. I think they're frightened I'll put up a fuss if they don't."

The Doctor let out a small chuckle at this. Jackie heard. "What's happened to 'im? What've they done?" she asked solemnly.

"See for yourself," Rose replied quietly. "It's entertainment for them, Mum." She paused, though the Doctor didn't know why. "They whipped him until he passed out. He's hurt bad."

"Oh, sweetheart." The Doctor thought for just one moment that the comment was directed at him. Perhaps it was. The thought was touching.

"What about you, love? Are you all right?"

"Mum," Rose said shakily. "They broke my wrist this morning."

Silence fell. It wasn't difficult for the Doctor to imagine the look of horror on Jackie's face. She seemed to struggle for words, until a single word won out. "Why?"

"I tried to escape," Rose said. Her voice cracked and the Doctor understood; sometimes pain and sorrow are only truly felt when confessed out loud. Recounting events to someone else makes them real.

The silence returned and he was once again left to wonder what was happening. Within a minute, Rose spoke up. "Did Alan send you here?"

"Who?"

"The one with the beard."

"Oh, him. Yeah. He said to bring those and that he'd come back for me in a couple hours."

"Did he tell you why?"

"Said you needed 'em."

"I mean why he was letting us have them in the first place."

"No. Why?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. I'm just glad you're here, Mum."

"I'd rather be at home, truthfully."

"Yeah, well…." There was a pause. "Can you fix up the Doctor?" Rose said. He could almost feel the two pairs of eyes focusing on his maimed back.

Jackie took a deep breath. "I'll do what I can with what I've got, but I'm not exactly qualified."

"What did Alan send you with?"

"Just bandages and a bottle of water. Not enough to fix anyone," Jackie said.

"No painkillers? No antiseptic?" Rose asked despairingly.

"None. I'm sorry, love."

"Do what you can for him, okay?"

"What about your wrist, then?"

"I'll be fine. Just fix him first," Rose said.

A moment later the Doctor heard footsteps padding towards him and a figure crouched at his side. "Hello, Jackie," he said.

He sensed that she was looking over his back and a long sigh drew from her lips. "Oh, Doctor. What've they done to you," she said sadly.

"I think they've whipped me once or twice," he replied.

"And left you chained to the bars."

"Yeah, they did. Yep." His words were light but his tone lacked emotion. If anything, it was miserable. Jackie tsked and bent to look him in the face, which he still refused to raise.

"Come on, then, let me have a look at you." He didn't move. It wasn't worth it. Jackie took his chin in her hand and turned his face towards hers by force. "Don't be childish, now, I'm tryin' to help. Look at me."

He did. She appeared tired. There were dark circles under her eyes. "You've gotta work with me, sweetheart. No use being like this. Rose is worried sick about you," she said under her breath so that Rose could not hear.

His large brown eyes locked onto hers. After a long pause, he gave an almost imperceptible nod. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and he was reminded of Rose having done so the day before. She really did care, didn't she? Had she called him "sweetheart"? The thought put an ache deep in his chest. There were times when it hurt him so much, being cared for. The loneliest man in the universe. He needed to be loved, needed to travel with someone and have someone by his side to keep him company. In spite of this need there was something heartbreaking about receiving the care and love that he desperately craved and simultaneously avoided.

"Let's get you patched up, yeah?" Jackie said, her voice breaking through his thoughts. He nodded again. She stood and stepped out of view before returning with the items she had brought with her. It was as she had said: nothing more than a roll of bandages and a bottle of water.

"I 'ave to tell you, Doctor, it probably won't do much good. I'm goin' to try and clean your wounds a bit, okay?"

He nodded. "Fine," he managed to say.

The first splash of water on his back was terrible. Rather than soothing it momentarily intensified the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the burning to subside to its original throbbing.

"Sorry, love," Jackie said. "It wouldn't be good to get infection. It has to be washed out and this is all I've got."

The water trickled once more into his wounds, pouring over the entirety of his back. Every cut was doused. "Hope this is doin' something," Jackie muttered. "You've got some nasty bruises," she noted as a sort of afterthought.

"Yesterday was fun as well," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm so sorry," Jackie said.

"I'm the one who should be saying sorry." He turned slightly. "About Rose—I didn't mean for this to happen. I tried to protect her, Jackie."

Out of the corner of his eye, he was just able to see Jackie bite her lip. "To be honest, Doctor, I'm not sure what to say to you."

"It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that to me; say it to her."

"I did. I needed to tell you as well. I tried."

"Not hard enough, though, did you," she said without expression.

His mouth dropped open. "I'm—I—"

"God, can't believe I said that. Ignore me." Jackie covered her face with one hand. "It's just hard, you know. Seein' my only daughter like this." She sniffed and, gathering control of herself, picked up the Doctor's shirt that was lying discarded on the ground. "I've got to dry your back. I've read that wounds need to kept dry, you know? D'you mind if I use this? It's already got some blood on it."

"No, I don't mind."

She carefully patted the balled-up shirt against his torn back. "_Hnnngh_," he moaned, every muscle tensing. In spite of her care it felt terrible. "Carefully" wasn't careful enough. He felt like his back had been the victim of a cheese grater. Once or twice she rubbed a patch of blood from his skin and it was a struggle to keep from crying out. He refused to allow himself to make another sound; he knew that Rose was watching from her own cage.

"There," Jackie said, lifting the cloth. He waited for her to say something, do something, but for a moment there was nothing. Then she said slowly, "I haven't always…acknowledged how brave you are. But you are. Brave." He raised an eyebrow. "I know it must hurt, but you just took it."

"Took what? The beating? The whipping?"

"All of it. The injuries an' then me doin' all this to you while you're curled up here on your own. An' there's a part of me that thinks you want to be alone with your pain. That look on your face earlier…. And you just let it all happen. Is it for her?"

"Not all of it." He swallowed. "Some of it's for me."

"You're a brave man. Is that offensive, calling you a man? You're a brave alien."

"I prefer man," the Doctor said drily.

"Right. You ready for the bandaging?"

"Can't wait. Please be gentle."

"I'm a mother, Doctor. I'm an expert at bein' gentle."

He felt her fingers on his back, and then she began to wrap the bandages around him. It was true, she was gentle. She wrapped the cloth slowly but confidently, from his back around his side and chest and around again. Over and over, until his back was covered and he felt like a mummy. I was like wearing a corset, except that he still had function of his lungs. Jackie finished, tore the cloth as best she could with her teeth, and tucked the end underneath the rest. "That should be all right," she said. "Is it okay if I go wrap up Rose's wrist?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He looked her in the eyes and held her gaze. "Really. Thank you."

"It was nothing." She allowed a tiny smile and, in a motherly fashion, draped his coat over his shoulders. "I don't want you to be cold," she said. Then she stood to tend to her daughter.

As she was wrapping the cloth around Rose's wrist to stabilise it, the Doctor spoke.

"Jackie. Have you met him?"

She paused and tucked the bandage under the wad of cloth around the injured wrist. "Met who?"

"Him. Whoever's behind all this. The person in charge."

Jackie lowered her hands, slowly. "I have, yeah."

"And?"

"He came to gloat. He said…said he would punish you for something you did to him. But it didn't make sense, he said you did it in your past but years from now."

"What was his name? His name, Jackie, _what was his name?_"

"They call him Mitchell. But he introduced himself to me as Adam."


	8. Pushed Too Far

**Author's Note: **My deepest apologies for how long it has taken me to update this story. I'm back at my chosen place of education and I have less free time than I would like.  
I did make one very minor change to the last chapter so that things would make more sense, but hopefully that change is so tiny that you won't even notice.  
Also want to mention to one of my un-message-able reviewers that Time Lords do have lungs, as well as a respiratory bypass system. Basically, they've got breathing covered. ;)

* * *

Rose jerked her head up, startled. Her eyes were fixed on the Doctor, watching for his reaction, but there was none. He had turned to face them but his face didn't answer her unspoken questions. His eyes were empty and tired. His mouth was grim. Yet his expression did not change.

"Jackie," he said evenly, and there was something frightening in his tone of voice. Something low and dangerous. "Say that again."

"Adam," Jackie said slowly, perhaps alarmed by his voice. "Adam Mitchell."

"That's not possible," he said.

"Doctor?" Rose said quietly.

"_It's not possible_," he repeated, and now there was no mistaking the venom in his voice, that deep rage that Rose knew so well from his last regeneration. The man with big ears and the leather jacket, so damaged and filled with pain and rage and the blazing fire of a sun. The man who had been broken by so many things. To Rose, hearing him now, she thought that man might be returning, and the thought scared her. That voice was the man who had threatened to kill the last Dalek. It was the same man who had teleported Cassandra back and let her die. His was the anger that had frightened humans and aliens alike. That man was wonderful—she had loved him, she truly had—but he was so hurt and so angry. He couldn't return to that. He shouldn't.

Jackie turned to Rose questioningly but Rose had no answer. She found that she could not voice what she was now putting together. Adam, the young man from Henry van Statten's underground base. Adam, whom she had taken on a date to see the stars. She had fancied him, at first. Had even felt sorry for him, stuck on Earth when he wanted to see the universe. She had begged the Doctor to let him travel with them.

And now this.

The boy who had gotten culture shock. Who had fainted at the sight of the Earth below them from that viewing deck on Satellite Five. He had seemed so normal to her then, if unappealing. The boy who couldn't handle the stars.

_"He's your boyfriend,"_the Doctor had said critically.

_"Not anymore_," she had replied.

And then he had tricked her. Tricked her, after the kindness she had paid him. She had given him support, let him borrow her phone, even lent him the TARDIS key so that he could have a place to adjust to the shock in privacy, and he had taken advantage of that kindness. He had deceived her, manipulated her, all for his own gain. Pretended to be ill, then run off to use knowledge that wasn't his to take. Isn't that what he had done? He had endangered them with his stupidity and greed, and after all that—after the Doctor and Rose were released and they fetched Adam to take him home—even then, he had tried to blame the Doctor.

_"You know, it's not actually my fault, because you were in charge."_

So when did that greedy, scheming, deceitful arse become a kidnapper? A torturer? What happened to Adam Mitchell?

It was all there though, wasn't it? _Wasn't _it? Hadn't she seen it, in his face, when the Doctor had snapped his fingers to expose the chip in his brain? The anger was there. The anger and the cleverness.

But he had been so normal. It didn't make sense.

"How can it be him?" she whispered.

"It can't be," the Doctor growled. "When we dropped him off back home it was 2012. He can't be here."

"But—it's 2006 now," Jackie said from her position across the bars from Rose.

"Yes, thank you, Jackie," the Doctor said rudely.

"We don't have time travel in 2012, do we? That's only six years from now! Do we have time travel in 2012?" Jackie asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

Jackie pulled back, affronted, but said nothing. There was no use arguing over manners and insults. She could excuse him, excuse his behavior on today of all days, because he was locked in a cellar and she had just bandaged his torn, bloody, bruised back and it was one of those days. She couldn't blame him. She really couldn't.

He caught sight of Rose's wide-eyed face from across the room and ducked his head. "I'm sorry. Again. I'm sorry, Jackie."

Jackie brushed his apology aside with a small shake of her head, as if to communicate that there was no need. "Who is he? Who's Adam Mitchell?" She turned to her daughter, then back to the Doctor. "Has he hurt you before?"

"He was nice, before," Rose said. "We met him in the future—in 2012—and he was nice."

"Not nice now, though, is he? Look at him!" Jackie said, gesturing wildly to the Doctor. "Look at _you_, Rose!"

"Things happened," the Doctor said.

"What 'things'?"

"He got too close to power."

"'Too close to power'? What does that mean?"

"Mum," Rose said. "The thing about time travel is…well, it's—it can be hard. To see things happen and you have to let them because that's the way time is and was and will be. And sometimes there are temptations. Things you think you could change, or things you want to change."

"And then there are the things that people just plain want," the Doctor interjected.

"And Adam? What did he want?" Jackie said.

"Everything," the Doctor said simply. He tugged on his earlobe, and for a moment he looked almost like his usual self. "He wanted to take information and technology that the Earth wasn't ready for. He wanted to change the future of the human race, and he wanted to be in the middle of it all. Unimaginable power. And he tried. He tried to take what he shouldn't. I had to stop him."

"Is that why he's doing all this?"

The Doctor looked at Jackie with a pained and bewildered expression on his face. "Is that enough reason to torture a man? To lock him up, kidnap his best friend and her mother and hurt them too?"

"I have a feeling I'd need to know the whole story to be able to answer that, love," Jackie said, but neither Rose nor the Doctor offered to tell her and she wasn't going to press them for it.

"The thing is," the Doctor said out of the silence, "I taunted him. S'pose it was just the kind of man I was. He put us in danger for his own selfish means and when I dropped him off back home I made him angry. Intentionally. Snapped my fingers one too many times, maybe, unhinged something that was loose in his mind…."

"But he seemed normal enough," Rose said.

"We all seem normal, until we're pushed too far. That's the problem."

"It wasn't us who pushed him, though!" Rose protested. "He did it to 'imself!"

"He did it to himself, but he blamed me. You remember?" Rose nodded. The Doctor took a deep breath and shifted where he knelt, adjusting the positioning of his manacled hands. He shook his head. "You can't interfere with established timelines. What did he expect me to do, slap his wrists and take him on another trip? I did what I had to do."

"'Course you did," Rose said.

"When you say that you taunted him," Jackie said, "what exactly do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter," he replied.

They took to empty silence, but how could it be empty when there were so many thoughts and questions flitting through their heads? That one name, just two words, had created chaos.

"Doctor," Rose said nervously. "How are you doing?" Any subject was better than Adam Mitchell.

The Doctor shifted again. It was clear that his position on the ground was uncomfortable. "Ask me tomorrow," he muttered.

His response, indeed his entire mood of late, pained Rose. She wanted to reach out to him, hold his hand as she had so many times, but she was trapped in this stupid cage. If only Alan and Paul hadn't kept them separated. It would have lessened her distress, at least.

"We're going to get out of here," she said.

"Maybe," the Doctor said.

"We are," Rose insisted. She had to change his hopeless attitude. She had to try. This wasn't the Doctor she knew.

A thought occurred to her, and she asked, "Mum, do they feed you?"

"Two meals a day," Jackie nodded. "It's hardly gourmet, but they treat me well enough. Why, what about you two?"

Rose shook her head. "We got a snack earlier. Other than that they seem determined to starve us."

They looked at each other. "Do they ever let you out of the room they keep you in?" Rose said.

"Only to go to the loo. They escort me there, though."

The Doctor watched them conversing over his shoulder. His eyebrows were drawn together as he listened to their voices, but he could no longer hear their words. Rose had lowered her voice, no doubt wary of the cameras installed in the room. Jackie nodded, bent forward to say something, then sat back to listen to Rose's hurried, hushed words.

Their conversation was cut short by the door opening, and the Doctor had to wonder whether the interruption had been intentional. Perhaps someone had been watching and decided that it was time for this secretive conversation to end.

Paul entered with long strides. "You, out!" he said, pointing at Jackie. Jackie turned to look at Rose and gripped her hand through the bars. "Stay strong, sweetheart. Look after him."

"Love you, Mum," Rose said.

Jackie stood and approached Paul, who gripped her arm and pulled her towards him. "Alan let you in here, did he? The little rat," Paul said.

Jackie held her head high and gazed at Paul with a look of pure disgust on her face. "You stay away from my daughter," she said evenly.

"Or what?" he said, tilting his head. He marched her to the door and, pulling it open, shoved her through it. "Put them together," he said to someone on the other side of the door. Alan, who had evidently been waiting outside, hurried in. His set of keys jangled in his hand. Alan marched to the smaller cage and, choosing the correct key, unlocked the handcuffs around the Doctor's wrists. The Doctor massaged the reddened skin and let his arms fall to his sides.

"Back with the girl. Go," Alan said.

The Doctor winced and tried to get to his feet, but his legs were cramped from kneeling on the hard, cold ground for so long and the movement stretched the skin on his back painfully. The effort was too much. In spite of the humiliation, he was forced to crawl back to the larger cage on his hands and knees, Alan watching with no small amount of satisfaction.

"Look at you," Alan said, a grin plastered across his face. "Crawling like the filthy animal that you are."

The Doctor could have responded with a dozen retorts, but it wasn't worth it. Besides, all of his energy was being spent in moving as painlessly as possible. The bandage helped, but his back burned.

Alan unlocked the door of the larger cell and he painstakingly made his way inside. Rose took him by the upper arm and helped him onto the bed, where once more he collapsed. This was becoming a regular occurrence and she didn't like it at all. The door was locked behind them and Alan left the room without a word.

"I think you got him in trouble," the Doctor said. He lay on his stomach, his head turned to the side.

"Good," Rose replied. She knelt next to him and anxiously peered at him. "Stop getting hurt, will you?" she said, her gaze flitting across his face.

"Sorry, Miss Tyler," he said.

"It's scaring me."

"I'll do my best. In my defense, it's not really my fault."

"Seriously, though. How are you doing?" Rose asked.

"You asked me that five minutes ago."

"You didn't answer five minutes ago."

"Well. I've had worse. The back will heal. Primarily I'm alarmed and, frankly, bewildered."

"Because of Adam?"

"He can't possibly have the technology to travel in time. That's very, very advanced, far beyond what humans are capable of. No offense, it's the truth. There are TARDISes and various types of Vortex Manipulators and that's essentially it, and neither of those are available to humans in the year 2012. Not even close."

"He did say he's a genius, when I first met him. What if he found a way to build a—a Vortex Manipulator, or found one that had made its way to Earth and fixed it. Fixing alien technology was his job."

"No," the Doctor said slowly, looking distant. "He couldn't have. Even a genius, a human genius, couldn't have done that."

"But he's definitely here. Mum said she met him."

"If we were in Cardiff, I would consider the possibility that he somehow found a way to harness the Rift energy. Not in London, though. So how is he doing this?"

"I'm a bit more concerned with the 'why,' to be honest," Rose said.

"Like I said, things happen to people. They become damaged. They get angry. They take it out on the people who were involved. And sometimes they lose sight of who they used to be." He shifted on the bed. "'Course, sometimes they're just plain mad and you don't see it until later."

"Yeah, but still."

The Doctor sat up and pulled his arms through the sleeves of the coat that Jackie had draped around him. The cold of the room was getting to him. Rose had taken to playing with the bandaging around her wrist. Neither spoke. They were waiting for something to happen.

* * *

**A.N.:** Again, my lovelies, I am so, so sorry about how long it's taken me to update. Make demands of me. Call me names. Anything. And sorry it's so short, but I wanted to get it posted ASAP because I'm a horrible person.


	9. Blame

**Author's Note:** Life has too much stuff in it! Back when this story was young I used to update every three to five days. Now it's every three to five weeks. Judging by my latest reviews (which I'm heartily grateful for, by the way, so keep 'em coming), people are getting nervous that I'm never writing ever ever again. Heh heh.  
(Also, thanks to Cicci Green for the helpful criticism. You're lovely.)

* * *

They were both exhausted. In spite of the relative nonexistence of physical activity since their capture, the lack of food, water, and rest were getting to them.

"I'd kill for a nice plate of chips right now," Rose mused.

"I could go for a pot of tea," the Doctor said.

"Tea and chips."

"Tea and chips and a nap," the Doctor said.

Rose peered at him. She noted the bags under his eyes and the weariness that his features displayed. "You look dead tired."

"Tired, yes. Dead? Not yet."

"Maybe you should sleep."

"Can't. Adam Mitchell is a raving lunatic, two goons are being paid to hurt us, and I've got one hell of a headache."

"'Fraid I haven't got…you know…Spock mind powers," she said sheepishly. "I can't help much with headaches."

"Just—talk to me?" he said hopefully. She looked at him, surprised. He met her gaze and, embarrassed by the slight and inexplicable flush she felt in her cheeks, Rose looked away.

"What do you want me to say?" she said in what she thought was a conversational tone.

The Doctor smiled and yawned widely before snapping his jaws shut. "Anything. Tell me about your favourite places. Tell me your favourite memory. Tell me about sunsets. You could recite Shakespeare's _Sonnet 130_, even."

"I don't know _Sonnet 130_."

"Don't know it?" he cried incredulously. "Ohhh, it's brilliant! _Beautiful_ sonnet."

"I know some knock-knock jokes," Rose offered.

The Doctor grimaced. "Absolutely not. There is no lower form of humour than a knock-knock joke."

"What about puns?"

"Puns are great," he said enthusiastically. "You need to learn to appreciate a good pun."

"Don't tell me you like puns," Rose moaned teasingly.

"Come on, you've heard me use puns all the time."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you actually _like_ them."

The Doctor made a small noise of disbelief. He yawned and made to stretch, before remembering how much that would hurt. "Sleeps sounds nice, now that I think about it," he mumbled into the mattress, shifting his position slightly.

"Go to sleep," Rose said. "I'll wake you up if anything happens."

"To which I intend to reply, 'Five more minutes,'" he said.

"Back okay?"

"Absolutely throbbing."

"Could be worse," Rose said, sneaking a side glance. "Could be a heartthrob."

"Oi," he said, raising his eyes to her face and rolling them. "That was terrible."

Rose laughed. "Yeah. It was."

"That was really, really terrible."

"Yes, fine, okay. No more jokes from me," Rose said. "Shut up and take your nap."

"Are you gonna talk to me?"

"Do you still want me to?"

"It would be nice," he admitted.

"Is this to take your mind off things, to make you fall asleep, or to help with the headache?"

"All of the above," he said. "It'll help."

"Well, all right," Rose said. She positioned herself against the wall, leaned back, and she began to tell him about a day so long ago when a man had taken her by the hand and told her, "_Run_."

The Doctor's lips twitched in a smile, he blinked drowsily once or twice, and within two minutes he had fallen asleep.

* * *

Rose wasn't counting the minutes, but she knew it must have been at least an hour before the telltale sound of the door opening woke the Doctor from his nap. His head snapped up, all traces of weariness replaced by panic. She noticed the fear on his face and reached out a hand to curl around his. He gripped her hand tightly, then seemed to become aware of his actions and let go.

"You're okay," Rose whispered. "You were dreaming."

"Then why does it hurt?" he said quietly. She bit her bottom lip and sat on the edge of the bed. His feet brushed against her back as she sat and she resisted the temptation to curl up against him and wait for this to all be over.

"My friends!" came a familiar voice from the doorway. "My comrades, my fellow travelers. How lovely to see you again."

Rose's head snapped to look, and the Doctor struggled to sit up. Seeing this, Rose offered him a hand and he took it, using it to pull himself upright. A man stood within the doorway. A cap was pulled low over his face and they could make out only the silhouette, but neither had any doubt who he was.

"So nice of you to join us, Adam," the Doctor called. "We were just talking about you earlier."

"So much _sass_, Doctor," Adam said, stepping into the room and taking slow, steady steps towards them, his footsteps unnerving in the darkness. He stopped just outside of the bars and shoved his hands into the pockets of the jeans he wore.

"I wouldn't need this much sass if I weren't speaking to such a prick," the Doctor replied calmly.

Adam tsked. "Language, Doctor."

"On the topic of language," the Doctor said mildly, "on the planet Myxtriam, there's a word for people like you. Just one word. _Vhhanyakhtarravish'n_. It means, 'man who betrays twice.' Sounds melodic, doesn't it? Vhhanyakhtarravish'n." The Doctor rolled the word around on his tongue as though it were a sweet. "Funny thing is, if you pronounce it just _slightly_ incorrectly, the meaning changes and it becomes 'rancid manure pile.' In this instance, both fit you perfectly. I ought to get you nametags."

Beneath the brim of the cap, they could see only the twisting of Adam's lips into a smirk. "I was really, _really_ hoping that my employees would break your spirits before I got to talk to you, Doctor. I'm not saying they haven't done their job, but it looks as though they've been quite easy on you so far."

The Doctor bared his teeth in a fierce, humorless grin. "Ah, well you see, it takes a bit more than this to make me bow to another false god."

"Yes, I'll tell them you said so. With a little hard work, anything is possible, isn't that right? Don't give up, follow your dreams and all that. Reach for the stars, so to speak." The smirk widened.

Adam then turned to Rose. "How are you, dear? How's the wrist?"

"It's great, thanks," she said sweetly. "I can't do much with it, but I can still do this—" She raised her good hand and very deliberately snapped her fingers. A faint whirr emitted from beneath his cap, and he angrily spat a curse. Rose sat back and laughed. Adam snapped his fingers to hide the chip and the Doctor immediately brought it back.

"Stop it!" Adam snarled.

"Just like old times, huh, Doctor?" Rose said.

"Oh, abso_lutely_. I'm getting nostalgic. There's nothing quite like a psychopath to bring back those feelings of home," he replied.

"You've still got a chip in your brain, then?" Rose said conversationally. "You know, you really shouldn't hide it under that cap. Bet it goes well with that shirt."

"Surprisingly enough, I haven't gone to a surgeon asking to have the micro-computer from the future taken out of my head," Adam said sarcastically. "_Somebody_ told me to lie low and live a quiet life."

"Ooh, I know this one. That was me," the Doctor said, just as sarcastic.

"And yet, Doctor, not you. Nice face. New wardrobe, I see. No more bad boy leather?"

"_And yet_," the Doctor imitated, "in spite of the new me you seem to have had no difficulty in identifying me. Clever of you. A little too clever, in fact. I'm sure there's a fascinating story behind that."

"I wouldn't want to ruin the mystery." Adam's lips stretched in a smile and he pulled off his cap. He was older than when they had last seen him. Not by much, but enough to be noticeable. How many years had it been for him?

"_Wellll_, it's not a mystery so much as an annoyance. Rose and I were having a perfectly happy time without you before you came along and had us kidnapped."

"Better off without him, wouldn't you say, Doctor?" Rose said.

"Didn't spare him a second thought, did we?"

"Wasn't worth the time."

"Wasn't worth _spoiling_ a good time."

They both knew that taunting Adam in this manner was dangerous, would likely result in some form of punishment, but for now it was worth it. After all he had put them through in the short time of their imprisonment, it felt too good to see the rage just barely hidden behind Adam's composed mask.

"Yeah, have your fun," Adam said. "Tomorrow will be my turn."

"Ooo, that sounds ominous," the Doctor said, inexplicably unable to respond appropriately to Adam's threats, which he knew were serious. But then, what was an appropriate way to respond to threats? And even if he did—even if he was submissive—would all of this stop? All the same, a feeling of unease seeped through his core.

"Do you have a preference in terms of what Paul and Alan do to you? I'm curious, I really am."

"Right, about your little cronies," the Doctor began. "Where on Earth did you find two such abominably thick specimens to carry out your game?"

"Some people will do anything for a paycheck," Adam replied.

"I'll concede that," he said, "but I'm referring more to your knack of choosing the most absurdly unintelligent, dramatic, and—no offense, I'm sure—repulsive creatures in the whole of the UK."

"Unintelligent…" Adam shrugged. "I'll give you that. It's easier to control the unintelligent ones. If you give them a purpose and a wad of cash, they'll take it."

"So, you chose them for their stupidity?" Rose asked.

"That and a certain propensity for cruelty that's more common in idiots. Where do you go to look for someone who will do whatever you ask, just for the money? You go to the people who won't question you. The ones who won't _think_." He tapped his head. "There's a difference between a bully and a dictator."

"Which is what?" the Doctor said.

"One is clever," he said.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," the Doctor said. "Charismatic, maybe, but never mistake personality for cleverness."

"You try and try to insult me, Doctor, but you're the one in a cage."

"Yes, well spotted, yes. I am in a cage."

"I listened to you screaming, earlier. Where's all that might and power you're supposed to have? Where's your superiority now?"

"I reckon," Rose said angrily, "you hired them so that you could _feel_ superior. But you're not, are you? You're just—you're scum. You wanted to feel big and mighty so you hired two thugs to make yourself seem better in comparison. You feel like their king. But you're nothing."

Adam's face grew cold before quickly smoothing into a calm expression; the transformation was brief, but they had both seen. To Rose, who had faced all sorts of monsters, that brief flicker of anger was more frightening than if he had entered the room raging at them and spitting threats. It showed _cunning_.

"This isn't a film, Rose," Adam warned mildly. "The good guys don't always make it out in one piece. You get that, don't you? Sometimes the bad guys are just smarter.

"Could've fooled me," the Doctor muttered. "Not the 'bad guys' being smart; like I said, well done finding me and all that. Bravo. Not so sure about smart_er_, but, well, we're bound to disagree sometimes. What I'm saying—what has been bothering me to no end, since day one—is that your cronies appear to think that this _is_ a film. The drama in this room is palpable."

"They _love_ it," Adam said, and once more they saw that swift transformation, this time to a state of energized amusement. "Have you noticed? They think they're Al Capone." He lowered his voice and growled, "Don't move, or the girl gets it." He let out a short giggle. "For once, they're the stars of the show. The big bad villain. It's been great fun to watch."

"I'm so glad you've been enjoying yourself," the Doctor said drily.

"Oh, I _have_! After all this time planning, I get to sit back, put my feet up, and watch what lesser people might call 'revenge.'"

"You don't need revenge!" Rose said loudly. "Adam—really—you don't need to do this."

"Oho!" Adam laughed. "You ought to keep an eye on her, Doctor. This little trick of hers; she bats her eyelashes and gets results. That might work on Alan, Rose dear, but not on me."

"Why are you _doing_ this?" she pleaded.

"You see," Adam continued as though he hadn't heard her question, "Alan is a curious case. He's a sex offender, did you know that? 'Course you did, look at you, using that body of yours to make him _so very horny_," he breathed. "Except, the thing is, Alan's not going to be happy with you offering yourself. That's not going to satisfy him. You know? He's not a boyfriend, he's a rapist. He likes the power just as much as he likes the sex. If you hadn't noticed," he said, his voice rising, "he likes to hear them scream and whimper."

Defiantly, Rose lifted her chin and stared back at Adam unblinking. "You don't frighten me," she declared, though by this point he was making her feel distinctly uneasy.

"Really?" he replied in mock astonishment. "How very brave of you."

Across the bars they watched each other, neither speaking. It was the Doctor who broke the silence. "What are you doing here, Adam?"

"Having…fun?" Adam suggested.

In an instant, the Doctor was on his feet and had taken a threatening step towards Adam. "Tell me!" he demanded.

"Whoa-oa! There it is. The Doctor, lording it over the rest of us." He clapped slowly, and the Doctor glowered. He had had enough of Adam's games. The teasing, the taunts, the torture…. Two days of imprisonment and he was growing tired of the roundabout answers and vague hints from their jailers. The time for patience was gone.

"Tell me why you're here, Adam," he growled.

"Are you asking me why I'm in this basement, or why I'm in the year 2006?"

"Both," the Doctor and Rose said in unison.

"Aww, look at that!" Adam crowed. "Talking at the same time! Oh my God, you two are too cute. I knew I was the third wheel. How far along has your little romance come? I bet you finish each other's sentences, don't you. Come on, you do. Tell me you do."

Neither Rose nor the Doctor responded. They were wearied and cranky from the conditions of their confinement, and rightly so.

"All right, relax, guys. You're so uptight. It's like working for Van Statten all over again."

"Why. Are. You. Here," the Doctor snarled.

"I'm here," Adam said his head briefly twitching to one side, "because three years ago you ruined everything."

"What did I do to you, Adam. What did I _possibly _do that you didn't bring upon yourself."

A short bark of a laugh escaped Adam's throat. "Really, Doctor? Have you already forgotten? You left me _stranded_ back home in 2012 with alien technology implanted in my brain! You left me to be _average_ and _dull_."

"You—"

"I worked for Van Statten because I wanted to get closer to space. I held alien artifacts in my hands and thought, 'Look how close I am.' You _know_ that. _You know that._ And what do you do? You give me what I've always wanted. I HAD EVERYTHING, AND THEN YOU TOOK IT AWAY," he bellowed.

"Adam, stop—" the Doctor began, but Adam was beyond listening. His hands were balled into fists and his face was a bright red as he shouted.

"You told me to lie low! You left me at home and you destroyed my work and you have _no idea_ what it's like, to spend your whole life wanting to be great and then have to '_lie low_.' Everything I had worked towards was gone! All my plans! I couldn't even go out in public because someone might snap their fingers and see my head. And they would lock me up and dissect me and ask me all sorts of questions, and I couldn't risk that because YOU, Doctor, YOU wouldn't help me get it all fixed. I made one mistake and suddenly it was all my fault that you went blundering into trouble, you put all the blame on me, because of course you can't blame yourself, can you, Doctor? And here you are, not knowing why I'm here, when it's ALL YOUR FAULT!"

"You had that chip implanted. You tried to _rewrite time_," the Doctor reasoned.

"For the sake of improving mankind!" Adam snapped. "I was going to change the world for the better!"

"And you were going to be at the centre of it all," the Doctor said, eyebrows raised. "For someone who sneered at me for—how did you put it—'lording it over' you, you were on your way to becoming a god. That knowledge wasn't yours to control, Adam."

"Who are you to decide?"

"Time Lord," the Doctor responded coolly.

"I could have been great," Adam hissed. "You don't know anything about me. My parents divorced when I was five. Do you know what I did? I blamed myself. It wasn't easy for little Adam. The kids at school teased him because he was smart. They called him a freak. They made him feel worthless. So I made myself a promise. I swore that I would become great. I swore that I would be worth something, not hidden away from the bullies. I was going to fix things. I was going to be _better _than them," he spat. "I was going to _escape_."

"This isn't the way to do it. Becoming master of the human race? That's wrong."

"Not master, Doctor. _Founder_. I was going to found the new human empire. I was going to make a utopia. And yes, I would be protected. I would be wealthy and admired. It's what everyone secretly dreams of. Only, I had the potential. I was a genius, I had _plans_, I was going to lead the world to do amazing things."

"How long were you planning this?" the Doctor asked, brow furrowed. "You can't have been planning it while working for Van Statten, hidden away in his underground lair…taking orders and being a nobody…."

"Working for Van Statten, I was able to dream. I saw the immensity of space and I wanted it. Just to see it, I told myself."

"But then—"

"But then you took me there. Into space, into the future. And I could touch it, and suddenly all of my dreams turned into plans. It was all there for me to grab. Why would I resist?"

"Because it's _wrong_," the Doctor said emphatically. "You can't change time! There are events that are in flux, but you were going to change thousands of years!"

"It doesn't matter! You took it away and left me stranded to live like the ordinary people. You made me live among cattle. You have no idea what it's like, to be that close to power and have it taken from you."

"Like leading a child out of a sweets shop," the Doctor supplied. "And, of course, the child cries and whines and makes a terrible fuss, but then the child gets over it. But not you, oh no. You stewed for three years and plotted a masterful revenge."

Beneath every individual's exterior is something strange and terrible and unseen. Some go through life without ever experiencing the manifestation of this self, and in others it rises up with stimuli. It was becoming clear to Rose and the Doctor, as they listened to Adam rage, that they hadn't known Adam at all.

"But—Adam—you're taking it out on us. That's—it's not our fault, Adam," Rose said.

They watched as Adam's face contorted. "YOU—DID—THIS. YOU—_MADE_—ME. YOU COULD HAVE TAKEN ME WITH YOU. YOU COULD HAVE LET ME TRAVEL WITH YOU. YOU SNATCHED IT ALL AWAY JUST WHEN I HAD IT. YOU—"

And then Adam's form buzzed, flickered, and fizzed out. He was gone.


	10. Mind if I Join You on This Beach?

For a while, there was nothing to be said. They sat side by side, leaning back against the wall and allowing their thoughts to overwhelm them. How Adam had come to be this way was still unclear. By the evidence, it all made sense to him. _Their_ betrayal, not his. _Their _fault. And while the two travelers genuinely tried to see both sides of the issue, Adam's argument lacked clarity. Rose could understand some of his anguish; growing up was hard, especially growing up in a broken or incomplete family. Even so, how had this happened?

The only thing that seemed to make sense was what the Doctor had said earlier: sometimes people simply get pushed over the edge. The struggles and disappointments, the insults…they all add up.

Rose shifted on the bed and wondered what it would take to make her snap. She didn't think she could torture anyone, not under any circumstances, but hurting others wasn't the only result of snapping. She remembered a girl from school, Charlotte, who had slit her wrists at home by herself in the bathtub. No one had even realized that Charlotte was struggling. The whole thing was a terrible mistake, she should have reached out to Charlotte, but how was she to know? No one had known.

If anything, Rose supposed that losing the Doctor, or her mum, would unravel her. Funny, how she had prioritised those in her head. Was one really more important than the other? She didn't want to think about that.

If she did lose them, though...either one of them…. She bit her lip and cast a glance at the Doctor, who was gazing into the darkness with his chin in his hands, apparently deep in thought like herself. Already Rose knew that she would risk her own life for him. She had absorbed the energy of the Time Vortex to save him. She had faced great dangers at his side and if it ever came to that she would give her life to protect him.

But here they were, and she couldn't even protect him from Adam Mitchell.

"So Adam is a hologram," Rose said, in part to distract herself.

It took the Doctor a moment to respond, and when he did his voice was weary. "Not a hologram, no." He resumed staring at the opposite wall. Rose waited for him to elaborate, to no avail.

"Then…what was that?"

He started, blinked, and looked at her. "What was what?" he asked distractedly.

"Adam disappearing!"

The Doctor drew a hand across his face. "Could've been a number of things." He sniffed. "Projection, fixed temporal interchange, vortex manipulator, rift fluctuation converter…. Thing is, any of those would take massive amounts of power. Unless the technology came from some other planet—which isn't impossible, but very unlikely—he couldn't have pulled that off. There isn't a power source on Earth big enough for that."

"Not even the rift in Cardiff?"

"He'd need a way to harness it, which he can't have."

"But say he did."

"Did what?"

"Did have it."

The Doctor exhaled heavily. "Then…I dunno. It's not good."

* * *

The next few hours were spent in quiet thought. Rose had noticed that the hunger and exhaustion were making her hands shake and her head felt far too heavy for her neck. The Doctor had given her the use of the bed and, in spite of her offerings to share, he refused. Instead he had taken to pacing the cell and running his fingers through his hair distractedly.

They had no excuse to ask to be permitted to use the bathroom, as they had had neither food nor drink in quite some time. Regardless, after Rose's escape attempt with the shard of mirror there was no chance that they would be allowed outside.

Rose's wrist had gradually become more painful and she wished the Doctor would fix it but didn't want to bother him. At the moment the pain in her broken wrist was the least of their concerns. Her own torture had been mild, but at the moment everything hurt.

After a time, Paul entered with a plastic tray heaped with food. Rose fully expected him to place it just out of reach, a new form of torment. To her and the Doctor's surprise, Paul set it down just outside the bars, then left without a word.

Their eyes met, Rose's questioning. The Doctor reached between the bars and picked up a roll, bringing it to his nose and sniffing. With a thoughtful expression, he licked it.

"Seems to be safe," he said.

"Not—poisoned or anythin'?"

He paused and turned the roll in his hand. "Poisoned? Probably not. Drugged, though—that's the question."

"What do you think it's been drugged with?"

"Laxatives? Hallucinogens? Tranquilizers?" He stuck one hand in his pocket, turning the roll around in his hand.

"Great." A loud rumble sounded from her stomach.

"I could—um—" The Doctor paused, confused. "There's really no good way to do this."

"Tell you what, I'm hungry enough to risk gettin' drugged," Rose said. "Toss me one of them." She pointed to the roll in the Doctor's hand. He looked at it, then at her.

"You're sure?"

She shrugged. "No. But if the food is drugged than I'd rather get drugged than you."

"No, you wouldn't."

"No. But you're more important than me."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and took a step towards Rose. "Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth. You are every bit as important."

Rose made a small noise of dissent. "Says the alien who's saved hundreds of worlds. You know I'm not."

"You and I are simply going to have to disagree on this," he replied seriously.

She gazed at the tray. The emptiness in her stomach felt as though a hand were squeezing her internal organs. The weakness in her limbs alarmed her. She wasn't accustomed to hunger like this; she needed to eat. "You'll protect me if somethin' happens to me?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You won't let them get me?"

"I'll do my best."

Rose pushed herself into a sitting position, fighting a short spell of dizziness as she did so. "God, I'm hungry. This better be worth it."

"Just eat one," the Doctor warned. "Just for now. Just one. If you're fine in a half an hour, then it might be safe."

"But why would they give us perfectly good food, right? We're prisoners. There must be something more to it."

The Doctor blew out a breath. "There's always something more to it. Could be nothing more than mind games."

"Fun."

"Very." He tossed her a roll, and she caught it.

"Cheers." She took a bite and swallowed. It was dry going down, and she indicated one of the two bottles of water. "Could I-?" Bending over with a grunt, he reached through the bars and handed her a bottle. She drank most of it before she could stop herself. "I feel like an animal," she admitted, wiping a drop of water off her chin. He didn't reply.

It wasn't long before the roll was gone, and Rose gazed at the plate of food forlornly. It hadn't been nearly enough. Half an hour was a long time to wait. She was nervous about the possibility of drugs in the food, yet her body was disinclined to listen to reason. Hunger ran through her body like a virus.

"Three things I'm doing when we get out of here," Rose said: "Takin' care of my wrist, havin' a nice hot shower, and feasting on any food that I can get at." The Doctor lowered himself to the ground and leaned against the bars, facing her. She couldn't read his face, but his silence was beginning to worry her. The Doctor she was used to was chatty, bursting with trivial information and observations on the universe. But then, it wasn't as though she weren't worried already. She couldn't tell how much he was hurting and he wasn't going to offer that information without prompting. Not to mention her uncertainty about how long it would be before they had a chance to get out of their dungeon. It surprised her that the Doctor didn't seem to be making an effort to plan their escape; ordinarily he was in action, even on the occasions when he didn't have a plan. The thought that he had given up disheartened Rose.

"Do you think they're gonna do something to us again?" Rose asked him quietly.

He tilted his head back and let his gaze linger on the ceiling. For a time he said nothing, and Rose watched him anxiously. "I don't know," he said at last. "Maybe."

Though she was unconvinced that he was being entirely honest, it seemed best not to push it. She supposed there wasn't much point in asking in the first place. Why bother putting energy into harmful thoughts? It would only make things worse to dwell on such possibilities. But what else could she do? She couldn't eat, she didn't want to sleep, there was nothing to talk about and no use thinking about their situation. She wondered if her mum felt as bored and useless as she did, until she remembered what Jackie had said about being permitted to watch television all day. If she knew what time it was, she could probably guess what her mother was watching at that moment.

It wasn't that she wanted something to happen—on the contrary, she wanted little more than to be left alone by Paul and Alan. It was just that confinement was driving her mad. Rose had thought that she was confined back when she was working in the shop. No life, no future. If that Rose could see her now….

She paused. If her past self, the Rose that hadn't yet met the Doctor, _could_ see her now—would she have gone with him? Would she have left her home and family and friends behind and brought her life in the TARDIS to the forefront of her self-identity? She was battered and caged; what would that Rose have chosen if she had known about this?

Perhaps she was biased by all that had happened in the time between—of course, of course she was—but it was difficult to imagine that she would say no. There had been nothing for her there, or then, or whichever it was. No, there had, there had been Mickey and Jackie and her mates, but that life hadn't been enough. It was hardly necessary to say it to herself, she knew it to be true, even if it sounded callous. Except that it _wasn't_ callous, was it? It wasn't that she didn't love them. Did it even have to be said?

Why was she even thinking about this? She had no doubt that she had made the right decision. She wasn't second guessing. She wasn't. Yet there was a genuine curiosity regarding how she would have responded, then, at that time and in that life. Who had she become?

The Doctor, for his part, was no less miserable. The first twenty-four hours in the cell had been psychologically tormenting; first the guilt of leading Rose into a trap, then that itch in the back of his mind, the itch to be on the move. For nine hundred years he had been obeying that need, and now here he was, trapped.

The guilt he felt for Rose was still present, but after all that they had been put through there were other things on his mind. He was ashamed to admit that self-pity had crept into his thoughts, though he certainly wasn't going to reveal it to Rose, or anyone else for that matter. He was the main target of torture and abuse, and while it wasn't the first time it was hardly as though this grew more bearable with frequency.

The worst part of it was being pent up with his own thoughts. When he was on the move, travelling through time and space, there was no time to think on mistakes he had made, horrors seen, people lost because he hadn't been able to save them. Behind the adventure and insanity there was a lonely, ancient, and cripplingly sad man. When he stood still it had a tendency to catch up with him. He needed to move. He missed his box. Without the TARDIS, he felt isolated and vulnerable. She was a part of him, had almost immediately fused with his identity.

He wondered what Adam had ordered Paul and Alan to do with the TARDIS. Had they tried to get in? Had they attempted to destroy it? If they wanted to truly break him, that would be the shortest route to the source, the most effective method, though of course they didn't have the technology to get past the shields. But then…all they needed was a key. A key that he conveniently had on him. Had they wished to gain entrance, they could have taken the key by force and done as they pleased with the TARDIS. So why hadn't they? He could only assume it was because Adam was too preoccupied with making him suffer. It was more than likely that he hadn't even told his employees precisely what the blue police box did, though if they knew about his two hearts then there was a good chance that they knew about his time machine. It was disconcerting, not knowing how much they knew or how precisely they knew it.

Rose shifted on the bed and, startled from his thoughts, he turned his head to look at her.

"Any side effects of the food?" he asked.

"An appetite," she replied. "How long has it been? Please say half an hour."

He made a face and tilted his head to the side briefly. "Fifteen minutes?" he said. Rose groaned.

"I'm imagining this sunny beach where I lie on a _really_ soft towel in the sun and a bloke with a great arse serves me snacks and cold drinks," she said, thudding her head back against the wall.

"Is that all?" the Doctor said, amused.

"Definitely not," Rose muttered in a flat tone. "It gets better. Someone else is giving me a massage and I am so, so relaxed." She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. "The sun is warm and I'm just listenin' to the waves."

"Mind if I join you on this beach?"

"There's another towel next to me. I set it out for you earlier."

"Where was I earlier when you were setting it out?"

"Talking to the TARDIS." Rose smirked and opened her eyes to give him a teasing smile.

"Right, well, I'm here now. Budge over, you're hogging all the beach." He seated himself next to her on the bed. "Rose Tyler, I believe you have deliberately placed a rock under my towel," he said, making a show of scooting one way and then another on the bed as though in great discomfort. She laughed and pulled her hair from her face.

"You said you'd be joining me on the beach in three minutes but it was more like ten. I had to get you back somehow."

"What, you weren't sufficiently preoccupied by your server with the great arse?"

Rose flushed. "I'm more interested in the food he's bringing, to be honest."

"So it was the _food_ that wasn't distracting enough."

"Well, he had to take my order first," Rose said in defense.

"What did you order?" The Doctor was smiling, his eyes crinkled in humor.

"I ordered…." Rose thought for a moment, her tongue between her teeth. "I ordered some hot soup aaaand…oooh, I dunno…crisps and a pot of tea with chocolate digestives and maybe a nice thick burger."

"Hot soup? On the beach? I'm roasting out here! No, if I were you I would order the ice cream."

"Oi, don't tell me what to do," she joked. "Besides, that's later. I'm savin' the ice cream for dessert."

"Naturally," the Doctor said.

Rose picked at the bandage on her wrist. "We've gotta stop talking about food; I'm going to…shrivel up or something."

"Eighteen minutes. Let's give it ten more. It's best to be sure we know what we're ingesting."

"We're ingesting heavenly, lovely food. Or we would be, if we didn't have to wait."

"You're welcome to risk it, if you—well, if you want to risk it. Best not, though. That is, I'd rather you didn't."

"I realise it's dangerous," Rose acknowledged. "And I don't want to get poisoned or anythin'. S'pose I'm just complaining cuz I'm hungry and I'm tired of this cell and I'm tired of—of being here, and of Alan and Paul, and being this useless _thing_."

"That's my Rose. A useless pink and yellow human thing."

"Shut up," she said, elbowing him.

"Bruises!" he yelped.

She brought her hands to her mouth. "Sorry! God, I'm so sorry. I forgot."

He waved her apology aside. "I may have deserved it."

"Don't be stupid, no one deserves that."

"I meant you elbowing me."

"Oh. You definitely deserved that."

He peered at her through the darkness. "You don't really think you're useless, do you?"

"No. I dunno. I mean, when I'm stuck in a cage, obviously. Yeah."

"When you're not in a cage?"

She squirmed uncomfortably. "Maybe. Sometimes. Not all the time, but—"

She stopped speaking abruptly, and he didn't respond, and the two of them quietly sat and watched the opposite wall, left to their thoughts. It was strange, what trapping the two of them in the cage had done to them. Well, to the Doctor. With nothing else to do, they were talking. Not just chatting and joking—though there certainly was that—but real, proper talking. The Doctor wasn't one to talk about feelings and the like on a regular basis, yet here he was, asking her a serious question as though it truly mattered to him. It was probably temporary, this opening up, and if they got out he would likely return to his usual space-chatter. Even so….

"You're not," the Doctor said out of the blue.

"What?"

"You're not useless."

She opened her mouth to respond but found that she wasn't certain what to say. "Oh," she said at last.

The Doctor resumed gazing at nothing, but after several moments of silence, during which Rose thought the topic had been abandoned, he spoke. "You're more important than you think. You all are."

"Who do you mean? 'You all'?"

"Everyone. Humans. Aliens. Martians. The thing about time travel is—and about being a Time Lord—is that I can see time as it is, and was, and should be, and must never be. One tiny action can send the whole thing shaking. And there are personal timelines, and sometimes these cross with very important events, and sometimes they don't, but the point is that each of these timelines is unimaginably important."

"I know. I've seen it firsthand. I—well, I've changed time." She thought back to when she had pushed her father out of the way of that car. "But that doesn't mean that when I'm travelling with you I'm doing as much as I could. People die and bad stuff happens and I just _watch_. Remember Gwyneth, in Cardiff in the 1800s? I feel like we could've saved her. If I had just…I don't know…there must've been something I could have done."

"That was her choice," the Doctor said gravely.

"But it happens over and over again. I don't know if I'm really makin' a difference or if I'm just along for the ride."

"Why can't it be both?" the Doctor asked.

"Because—because that's not how things work!"

The Doctor looked down at his hands resting on his lap. A pause grew and lengthened. He wanted to say that she had saved his life on Satellite Five, and how selfless she had been, and what a difference that had made. He wanted to express how important she was. He couldn't find the words, and even if he could he wasn't sure that he could say them. He told himself that she knew. That they didn't need saying.

"It's been half an hour," he said quietly. "If you wanted to eat."

"Oh, thank God," Rose sighed. "You're eating too, aren't you?" She stood and made her way to the tray of food still waiting outside the bars. "What do you want? Bread? Water? Banana? Some kind of…cold pasty?

"Gourmet! I'll try the pasty," the Doctor said.

"Yeah, I might give it a go as well." Rose reached through the bars, grabbed the two pasties, and handed one to the Doctor. He thanked her with a nod and cautiously bit into it.

"_Very_ gourmet," he said. "Traditional Cornish."

Rose was already halfway through hers, famished as she was. "I will never stop eating," she vowed through a mouthful of pasty.

"Don't make yourself sick," the Doctor warned.

"Yes _sir_," she said, licking crumbs from her fingers.

Rose sat back, for once feeling rather satisfied. Even cold, in the face of her hunger the pasty had tasted amazing. _Bring on the poison and drugs_, she thought to herself. They each ate half of a banana in silence, enjoying the sweetness of the fruit (though Rose had to acknowledge that the Doctor was clearly enjoying it more than she was). Things seemed to be looking up, for the time being.

And then their picnic was interrupted by a voice. Adam's voice. "_Testing, testing_," it said. "Testing, one, two, three."


	11. Explanation

"_Honey, I'm hooome_," Adam's disembodied voice crooned, and he materialised in front of them.

"Nice party trick," the Doctor said, looking him up and down. "I'd love to know how you did it."

"Yes, I'll bet you would. Want to see another?" Adam reached towards them, but rather than being hindered by the bars his arm passed right through them. "Oooo, I'm a ghost," he moaned dramatically, wiggling his fingers.

"I didn't think ghosts short-circuited while shouting at the living," the Doctor mused. "'Course, my experience with ghosts is limited. Half the time they seem to turn out to be aliens."

"If you'd like to meet the real deal, I can have that arranged. After I'm done with you, obviously."

"Was that a badly-worded death threat, or an invitation to a ghost party?" the Doctor inquired.

"Paul and Alan miss you." Adam made a pouty face. He leered at Rose, and she felt the hairs on her arms prickle.

"Oh, so will we be seeing them again soon, then? Thing is, they took something from me and haven't given it back."

"I presume you're referring to your dignity," Adam smirked.

"Oh, well done. You've gotten wittier since we let you tag along with us." He shifted slightly on the bed before continuing. "Actually, I was talking about my sonic screwdriver. Basically the same thing, though. You're very good at these guessing games."

Adam's face turned pink. The Doctor noticed. "I didn't know ghosts could get so flushed, did you, Rose?" he said casually. Adam curled his hands into fists, then slowly unclenched them. It was clear to the two prisoners that he was struggling with controlling his anger management, a fact which the Doctor appeared to be exploiting.

"Paul and Alan will be here in the morning," Adam said, "and after they're finished with their job you won't be half so cocky."

"Ah. Yes. I meant to ask you. How long do you intend to keep us in here and torture us? We're getting a bit tired of it."

"I hadn't given it much thought," Adam replied.

"Might I suggest releasing us?"

"You'd like that."

"Yes, I would. Hence why I said it."

"Begging, Doctor?"

"Oh, not yet. Not even close. Just politely inquiring."

Adam scoffed. "As long as you're like this, you stay, stupid."

"Hm? Like what?" The Doctor feigned innocence, raising one eyebrow.

"Arrogant. Sarcastic. Impudent."

"Ohh, yes, you wanted to break out spirits and have us wallowing in fear and despair."

Adam said nothing.

"I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but you're not doing so well with that."

Rose shot him an alarmed look, which he ignored. Goading Adam into increasing the torture—how was this a good idea?

Adam's eyes narrowed. "It seemed to be working when we whipped you, Doctor. As I recall, once you stopped screaming you got awfully quiet and antisocial. Or did you forget that I've been watching?" He gestured over his shoulder at the camera.

"Yes, being whipped was the highlight of my life."

"I'll be sure to tell Paul how much you enjoyed it. He's a big fan of the old-fashioned methods."

"Old-fashioned? A whip? I was around when the Brazen Bull was forged. I was here when the Iron Maiden was still just an idea."

"Not all of us are centuries old."

"Clearly. If you were, you might be less foolish."

"And how am I being foolish?" Adam asked, looking mildly amused.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you? Choose your fights wisely. Your mistake was choosing me."

"A truly terrifying speech."

"It doesn't make a difference to me whether you're frightened."

"No?"

"No. I just wanted you to know your mistake."

"Wow. Thanks for telling me. You're a real pal."

"Shall I tell you something else?"

"Go on then."

The Doctor watched him unblinkingly, chewing on the corner of his lip in thought. "I think you are frightened." Adam snorted but the Doctor continued. "You can pass right through those bars. So why don't you? I think," he murmured, maintaining that unnerving eye contact, "that you feel more comfortable with a barrier between you and me."

"I don't need a barrier to feel safe," Adam retorted. "You can't touch me."

"I hope for your sake that when I get out of this cell you have the sense to run, Adam Mitchell. It took me less than a minute to find Paul and Alan; how long do you think it'll take me to find you?"

"Paul and Alan wanted to be found. I gave them instructions."

"Because you knew that I _would_ find them. And you know that I can find you as well." The Doctor stood and stretched lightly. In comparison to the Doctor, Adam looked small.

"But you're my pets!" Adam said with a grin. "What makes you think you're getting out of the cage?"

The Doctor's eyebrows rose and he incredulously mouthed the word "pets." Rose looked at him and he looked at her and something was communicated between them. In that moment Adam had seemed utterly insane. It wasn't comforting knowledge.

The Doctor stuck his hands into his pockets and leaned casually against the wall. "So Adam, tell us, cuz we're just dying to know: have you got anything to tell us, or are you just here because Laurel and Hardy upstairs are busy learning to tie their shoelaces?"

"You don't think that, after years of planning, I wouldn't want to see my success up close?" Adam replied.

"Welcome to the zoo," Rose intoned under her breath. "Here you will see two species: a female specimen of the common _Homo sapiens_ and the endangered male Time Lord."

"What are you saying?" Adam asked. Rose shut her mouth and stared at him mutely. "What was she saying?" he demanded of the Doctor, who shrugged and crossed one ankle over the other. Impudent as ever, the Doctor winked slowly at Adam.

"Nothing to say to us, then," the Doctor said. "Nothing at all. Just here to peep." He paused to rub his eye lazily with one long finger. "How utterly fascinating your life must be."

"I can't imagine anythin' more fun," Rose muttered.

"_Speaking_ of fun," the Doctor said, "I have to ask. That booby trapped door of yours—why hasn't it electrocuted your minions? There doesn't seem to be a keypad on either side of the door—no buttons, no password to turn it off—but they haven't gotten shocked. Come on, tell us your secrets."

Adam let out a surprised laugh. "Of all the things to ask, you're interested in how the door works?"

"I have to plan an escape," the Doctor said matter-of-factly.

Rose hid a smile. His inaction and lack of a plan had unnerved her. Observing him, it had seemed as though he had given up hope entirely. Maybe he was merely making idle conversation, yet the simple question raised her spirits.

Adam smirked and scuffed his feet on the damp cement floor. "And you have some delusion that I'll be telling you how to get out?"

"No. No! Absolutely not. No. Not how to get out. See, I'm a clever man, I've got that bit sorted, or I will have, eventually. I've been in worse pickles than this one, and worse, I've been on a pickled planet. Lots of jars…. I will say this, they made a great goulash. I'm just curious. Want to avoid making the same mistake twice."

"Nice, wasn't it, that Paul was there to perform CPR," Adam remarked. The Doctor offered a noncommittal shrug.

"I suppose you're wondering how he knew to do both hearts," said Adam.

"_Well_," the Doctor acknowledged, tilting his head. "Fairly curious, yeah."

"This is my favourite part. This'll really get you. God, I've been waiting to tell you this for ages, just to see the look on your face."

The Doctor crossed his arms. "I'll try not to disappoint."

"Do you remember in 2005, when van Statten took that x-ray of you?"

"I do, _although_, as I recall you weren't in the room at the time."

"Oh, I wasn't. I wasn't in the room at all. I was upstairs, flirting with Rose. Not that she wasn't doing her fair share of flirting, you know. She was clearly interested. Remember that, Rose?" Adam rocked gleefully on his heels. "Van Statten took the x-ray and saved it to his databases. He wanted to keep you as one of his alien artifacts. A real living alien, in a cage, just like I have you here. A toy, really. He wanted to examine your binary vascular system, revolutionize medicine in America. You were a guinea pig that he was going to dissect."

The Doctor watched Adam coldly, waiting for him to continue.

"Well here's the thing. Van Statten's base was filled with cement after the incident with the Metaltron—the Dalek. Plugged up to avoid similar circumstances from happening again. The base was filled and van Statten's memory was wiped. There shouldn't have been any record of you from that day. But I needed to know more about you, Doctor, know your weaknesses and how your body worked. For all I knew you didn't even have nerves, and _imagine _what a letdown torturing you would have been, right? All that planning, only to find that you couldn't feel any of it? I spent a year finding out everything about you that I could: where you had been, who you had been with, what you had done, and most importantly the details of your physiology."

He paused for a moment. There was a frantic energy behind his eyes and when he continued it was as though he had recited this many times in his head.

"Van Statten's memory was wiped, but his records weren't. He had two sets of files: the ones in his underground base and those on his own personal computer at his home. The transfer was automatic. Any information gathered in the base was sent directly to his home computer for safekeeping, in case of emergencies or data theft. Of course, all records in the base were unattainable. I would have had to drill through hundreds of feet of cement just to reach the mainframe.

"Reaching his home computer was much simpler. None of his staff knew where he lived—he was wary of assassins and spies, see—but as I've mentioned, I am a tech genius. It's ridiculously easy these days to locate someone; you're proof of that. I entered his home and stole his files. All of them, from that one day in 2005. I knew you had to be in there somewhere—van Statten had known that you were an alien and if the whole ordeal with the Dalek hadn't happened there was no way he would've let you go. You knew things that he wanted. You yourself were the new most prized possession of his collection, as I've said. The guinea pig that would give and give and give. He had taken you to the lower level of the base and done something with you, and I was certain that there was information I could use. The—"

"We dropped you off at your mother's home in England. Van Statten was American," the Doctor interrupted.

"So?" Adam said, looking a little peeved that his speech had been disturbed.

"So, what, you just…hopped on a plane to America and found his house?" the Doctor said incredulously.

"Impressed?"

"Not really, just a little confused."

"It cost me nearly half my savings to buy that plane ticket. I'm a genius, but I was a poorly paid genius. But it was worth it," Adam told him.

"And now I wager you're working at Tesco. How far you've come."

Adam glowered. The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets and beamed. "Right, yes, you were telling us how you discovered my many weaknesses and sent Paul to my rescue when I so mistakenly tried to open your booby trapped door. Best story I've heard all day. We're loving it, aren't we, Rose. Carry on."

It was a few seconds before Adam continued. "I took the files and flew back to England with them. I thought that with your English girlfriend in tow you'd return at some point to Britain and that if I went home I would have a better chance of finding you."

Rose and the Doctor exchanged another look. "_Girlfriend_," she mouthed. Once more, he shrugged. They turned their attention back to Adam.

"Back to living with your mum, then?" the Doctor queried cheekily.

Adam's eyes narrowed. "I rented a flat in Camden," he responded. The Doctor nodded and waved for him to go on.

"I had been right about the files," he continued. "There was video of you—old you—all trussed up in chains and undergoing electro-invasive examination. You didn't seem to be enjoying it, Doctor, not one bit. And then lo and behold, I found several x-rays of you. Two hearts. I told myself, 'That information will be useful later on.' And it was, wasn't it? It kept you alive. A part of me had hoped that Rose would be the one to try the door—I mean, my real issue was with you, Doctor, and if she didn't survive then it would be less fun later on but it would hurt you _so much more_."

The Doctor stiffened by Rose's side. She felt her face grow hot and her heart began to beat more rapidly than before.

"You knew we would break out of the cage," the Doctor said flatly, rage emanating from him in one horrible wave.

"Obviously," Adam replied. "You didn't think I'd forgotten that little tool of yours? I knew you must have it on you and that, in all your great wisdom and cleverness, you would use it to break out in the first five minutes of your visit. The door was just a warning. A fun idea of mine that Paul and Alan helped me to rig up. Deadly, but wasn't it, well…_shocking?_"

"Hilarious," the Doctor growled.

"Of course, now that I knew what to look for I found traces of you all over the place. The two-hearted man. I shouldn't say _all_ over the place, it was really only three or four records, but I was sure it was you. How many people are there with two hearts? There was San Francisco, 1999—a man was taken to hospital with multiple gunshot wounds. The medical report said that the x-ray was mistaken, something about double exposure, but there were two hearts. The man died in surgery and later disappeared from the morgue. Sound familiar?"

"I also found something strange from 2007, in the Royal Hope Hospital records. Nurses said that a 'John Smith' had an unusual heartbeat. They didn't take an x-ray, but the only file on John Smith said that his heart had an 'echo.' Not exactly concrete evidence, but wasn't it the Royal Hope that was in the middle of all that media about some kind of trip to the moon? Sounds like you, Doctor."

"I've never been to Royal Hope Hospital," the Doctor said.

"No? Well, I'm not saying it was you. But as you can see, I did extensive research. Once I knew that you had two hearts, I looked into every possible case that you might be linked to."

Taking advantage of Adam's chatty mood, the Doctor said, "Then how did you find me? How did you know we would be in London on that specific day? How did you find out about Jackie?"

Adam tsked. "Weren't you listening, Doctor? Finding people has become easy. I knew Rose's surname and that she was from London and I went from there. About a year after you abandoned me, once the anger had really wedged itself into my head and I became resolved to get back at you, I tracked down all the Tylers in London in search of the one family that mattered. I didn't know at the time that Rose only lived with her mother. Thing is, Jackie Tyler doesn't live in London in 2013."

"What do you mean?" Rose blurted.

"I mean," Adam said, rolling his eyes, "she doesn't live in London. Up and disappeared. But I found you, all the same. The Powell Estate, 2006."

The Doctor stirred. "When you say 'found'…."

"Not in person. I found documents. At that point I hadn't gotten around to time travel yet, but I knew—" he shook one finger, "I knew that I could. If _you _wander around on Earth then you couldn't be the only alien on the planet. Van Statten had collected all that alien tech, so I thought, what about what he hadn't found? What about the things he didn't know about? I sent out feeders on the internet. I wrote on all sorts of nutcase blogs, requesting any information on recent alien sightings—within the last ten years or so. You wouldn't believe the nutters who responded. 'I've seen flying saucers above Bristol!' 'There are green people at Stonehenge during the night!'" He began to pace up and down in front of the bars. "I wasn't expecting any real results to turn up. But then someone wrote back about strange happenings in Cardiff. Odd creatures in the sewers, unusual disappearances, flashes of light…. Things you might call 'supernatural.' And that's when I found Torchwood."

"Doctor," Rose muttered. "Wasn't Torchwood…? Wasn't that-?"

"The name of the house where we fought the werewolf with Queen Victoria," he said, his brow furrowed. "But—"

"Oh, it's much more than a house now, Doctor. I'm a bit hazy on the details, but there have been three Torchwood Institutes, each dedicated to the defense of Earth against alien threats, such as yourself. They collect alien tech and use it to protect this world. Only from aliens, mind; they don't get involved in wars and other human conflicts."

"And you got your hands on some alien tech, I take it," the Doctor said.

"I did more than that. I joined Torchwood. I had information that was useful to them, I had skills and experience, and I had courage. Torchwood practically invited me to join their team."

"And did they find out about the pretty little gadget in your head?"

Adam pulled a cap out of his pocket and held it up for the Doctor to see. "I've been wearing this for the last two years," he said. A cold sneer twisted his face. "For a long time I wouldn't go out. I couldn't be seen, in case someone snapped their fingers. After a while I took to covering my forehead with this. My colleagues thought it was a little eccentric, wearing it day after day, but what did that matter? If Jack knew, he—"

"Jack?" the Doctor asked. "Jack who?"

"Jack Harkness. My employer."

The Doctor and Rose both stiffened and looked at each other with eyes wide. They hadn't heard from Jack since Satellite Five, where the Doctor had left him. Somehow he had found his way back to 21st century Earth and made a place for himself at the head of an Earth defense agency.

"But—Jack _died_," Rose whispered. The Doctor didn't answer her.

"So you know Jack!" Adam crowed. "Don't tell me you're the one he talks about. Oh God." He began to laugh. "You are! You're that guy!" He bent double, clutching his stomach as he laughed silently. The Doctor and Rose watched in stunned silence. "Oh, Doctor, _Doctor_, has he got a thing for you!" Adam wheezed, brushing tears of mirth from his eyes as he straightened.

"Tell me how you got here, Adam," the Doctor demanded.

Adam sighed. "It's all 'business, business, business' with you. All right. As you wish, milord." He straightened his coat and resumed pacing. "So. I gained Jack's trust. I'm sure he would have liked to go beyond that level, if you know what I mean," he said with a wink, "but I turned him down. It got to the point where he wasn't monitoring my every move, and then I started stealing things. They have hundreds of artifacts stashed away—some are liquid pheromones, some are mind-reading devices, some are teleports…. I took things that wouldn't be missed. Maybe they would be missed." He shrugged. "I don't know! It doesn't matter. I took them and…redesigned them. Most of them, I didn't know how they worked, but like I said—genius. Sometimes I was able to get Jack to help unknowingly. I'd ask him about the function of this or that, and how it worked, and the design of it, and he would tell me little details. At one point I think he was getting suspicious, but I was clever and played the game like a pro.

"On one project we were doing, I told him that the calibrations required much more energy than we could possibly generate. It was a life or death thing, you understand. That's when I found out about the Rift Manipulator. I modified it and found a way to grab some of the power from the rift. Jack wouldn't let me use it, of course, but he didn't know. I was so good at what I was doing. He had no idea. Every time I did something in front of Jack, I convinced him that it was for the current project: I told him that I had developed a computer program that would help locate rift surges with greater accuracy, when it was actually one that would transport a single human consciousness. Getting it to cross time was another matter: I took parts of several devices to allow transtemporal jumps and put them together. A broken vortex manipulator, a centuries-old Divining Watch…. It wasn't easy, but I was committed. I took all this technology and built myself an incredible machine in an abandoned hospital that closed down ten years ago. Your new home."

"That's not possible," the Doctor gasped.

Adam's eyebrow twitched. "Isn't it?" he drawled. "Clearly I've done it. I've created a living image of myself, transported through time."

"Not through space, then?"

"I'm right here in this basement. In the future. This armband connects me to the machine, upstairs." He pulled back his sleeve to show them the silver contraption around his wrist. "I'm standing here projecting an image of me into the past. I can see you and you can see me, but we're separated by nearly a decade. Brilliant, isn't it?"

"You can't."

"I _can_."

"Then—this torture chamber, the cells, Alan and Paul—how did you arrange all this?"

"I've been making trips to the past for quite some time. When I found Jackie, just to be sure it was the right Tyler-it was so obvious that they were related. I had to make sure, though. I dressed as a maintenance worker and asked to enter the flat for a free checkup on the plumbing. Said that the neighbors had had recent complaints about the pipes and that my company was making the rounds to be sure everything was safe. She's simple-minded; she believed me."

Rose made to stand, a retort on her lips, but the Doctor rested a calming hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down.

"I hired some neighbourhood kids to keep an eye out, to leave me a message via email if they ever saw a blue police box in the area. I only had to check it once, which was the brilliance of it; they had sent it to me in the past, ergo it was immediately there in my present. See? They told me the time and place and I promised to pay them for it. I haven't gotten around to that, I admit…I'm not sure how to get money into the past. I can't even touch anything here, as you're aware. I've promised Paul and Alan heaps of money as well, but they might have to wait a few years to be paid…. Ah, yes. Paul and Alan. I gave them a credit card number from several years ago, along with specific instructions on constructing the cages. I had to make a separate trip into the past just to find the number on the card. They purchased the necessary materials—and no doubt made off with more of a profit than I had intended—and built the cages and door to my specifications. They're not too clever, but they're good with their hands. The door was the trickiest part; wires and diagrams are a little beyond them."

"You said you weren't well paid," Rose interrupted. "How'd you pay for it all?"

"Oh, didn't I say? It was my mother's credit card."

Rose blinked. "Great son you are," she muttered.

"Funny thing is, I remember her telling me years ago that there was money missing from her account and a strange bill to some shop she had never been to. The credit card company said it was probably fraud, identity theft. I had no idea at the time that it was me."

"So they built a prison and waited until the date and time you gave them," the Doctor stated.

"Yes. They waited until the afternoon of December twenty-third, 2006, and then they kidnapped Jackie Tyler from her home and drove her here to wait for you two."

"But your system has flaws," the Doctor said.

"Which are…?"

"Well. An imbalance of energy and—fizz, bang—the whole thing crashes."

Adam narrowed his eyes.

"Wellll, during your last visit, it short-circuited when you were shouting at us. Shall I tell you why? It's because you overloaded the system with your own adrenaline. You've set your machine for too narrow an electrical field. You forgot about all those tiny electrical impulses in your brain, zapping information around your body. Your anger disturbed the hypothalamic nerve cells in your brain and told them to send out massive amounts of adrenaline in the bloodstream, and when all of that reaches the heart—shazam!—your heartbeat increases and blood pressure rises. Too much excitement and the projection can't transfer it all, so it shuts down instead. You managed to overload the electroimpetal drive. I hate to tell you this, Adam Mitchell, but your technological skills just aren't good enough for the kind of energy that you're trying to transfer."

Adam's face turned red. "It doesn't matter. I got here. Don't you see? My machine still works."

"Right, 'course you did, but I thought I'd tell you…might want to control that temper of yours."

They stared at each other, Adam glaring, the Doctor smiling that cheeky smile of his, and it was around that time that Rose collapsed.

* * *

**Author's note: **For the purposes of this story, I did tweak the Whoniverse a little bit. The story is set approximately in the middle of series two of New Who. I had to work with Adam being from 2012, which is complicated and doesn't exactly fit in with what I was trying to do. As such, I am apologetically ignoring the fact that in the series two finale the Doctor learned about the Torchwood Institute for the first time. (Time can be rewritten, right? I'm not sure how much the continuity of the future context matters to all of you. Feel free to voice any dissatisfaction.) I'm also pretending that in 2012 through, say, 2014, Torchwood Three in Cardiff is still going strong and Jack is still leading it. Due to my deep respect of RTD, I did back away from manipulating the events of Doomsday, and as you can see the Tylers no longer live in London in 2013 because they relocated (so to speak) to the alternate universe. If you find things in the chapter that don't make sense, or if there are plot holes left gaping, please let me know and I'll try to sort out time travel in my head and fix the problem.


	12. A Brief Salvation

**Author's note:** I'm very sorry for the time it has taken me to update. My writer's block it a big old meanie face. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank all of the people who have reviewed this story thus far, particularly the guests without accounts (and/or people with the reply option disabled?) whom I haven't been able to respond to and thank personally. You've all been so kind and supportive. Thank you.  
And now for the next chapter.

* * *

"Rose? Rose. Rose. Talk to me."

In an instant the Doctor had lurched to her side, kneeling on the cold cement floor with her face between his long-fingered hands. The position stretched the scabbing wounds of his back painfully, but he ignored it. It didn't matter. There was something wrong with his Rose.

He slapped her cheeks lightly in an attempt to revive her. Checked her pulse. Felt her forehead. Time seemed to be moving in a manner wholly unfamiliar to him: not the clever, steady _tick tock_ but a wild and frenzied storm of a moment.

_"Do something!"_ he screamed to Adam.

Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong. The food—it must have been.

"_What did you do to her? What did you put in the food?_"

"I didn't put anything in the food," Adam snapped, a convincing look of surprise on his face.

"Then what did your men put in it?" the Doctor demanded.

Adam raised his hands in a gesture of ignorance. "Nothing! I don't know! Nothing!"

The Doctor leapt to his feet and flung himself at the bars. His eyes were wild. "You save her and you save her _now_," he snarled. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, his manner frantic. "_Do. Something_."

"I—what—I can't, I'm not even here!" Adam passed his hand through the bars again as proof.

"Then _get Adam or Paul down here, now!_"

"They're not here!" Adam shouted back.

"Where the _hell_ are they?!"

"They have their own lives! They don't sit here 24/7 waiting for your next session!"

"So get her mother!" the Doctor spat. "If she dies, I will find a way out of this cell and I will hurt you in ways you have _never felt pain_, do you understand?" Flecks of spit flew from his mouth in his rage.

Adam stared at him, shifting from foot to foot. Indecision showed plainly on his face. "Fine," he said at last. "Fine. Her mother. I'll get her." He bounded away and sped past the solid door, walking right through what to him was not real. And then the Doctor was left to wait for his return with Jackie.

He took Rose's head in his hands and, shifting to kneel once more on the floor, rested it in his lap. He gazed down on her still face. "Hey. You'll be fine, you hear me? We'll get you all fixed up, don't you worry. Just hold on now." He blinked anxiously into space.

Just to be sure, he checked her pulse again. It was strong and steady, yet she hadn't moved since collapsing. If the food had been drugged after all, he couldn't guess what it was. A powerful sedative? The symptoms didn't look like those of any poison from Earth. And whatever it was had either been overcome by his superior nervous system or had yet to take effect.

His hearts pounded. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears and for a moment wished he could instill some of that liveliness into Rose. He thought he saw her eyes move under her eyelids, but apart from that she did not stir.

The door slammed open and in hurried Jackie followed by Adam.

"Let me see her! Let me in there with her!" Jackie ordered, out of breath.

"I haven't got the key," Adam said.

"Doctor, what's the matter with her, what's wrong with my little girl?" she said in a rush, pressing herself against the bars. In her haste to get to her daughter she hadn't heard Adam's reply. "The key!" she said, reaching out a hand.

"There is. No. Key," Adam repeated.

The Doctor's blood pounded. Time couldn't be wasted, not now.

"Jackie. He doesn't have a key," he said curtly. "Whatever you can do, you have to do from there. Now help me."

"Wh—I don't know—what's wrong with her?"

"Poison. Maybe. Maybe drugs. There must've been something in the food. I can't wake her up."

Jackie uttered a pained cry. Her hands rose unwittingly to her mouth. "Oh-!" she whimpered.

"Jackie." The Doctor looked up at her, Rose's head still resting on his lap. His gaze was intense and serious and authoritative.

"I don't know what to do!" she squeaked, helplessly wringing her hands.

"I think she's still breathing. She still has a pulse. Tell me what to do."

"I—I've never had to deal with poison or—or sedatives, or-"

"You're a mother. You must know something," the Doctor said, growing frustrated in his desperation. "What do you do when a child swallows a substance they shouldn't?"

"You call 999!" she shouted angrily, her cheeks flushed pink. "I don't know!"

"Something more immediate, Jackie."

"I—"

"Induce vomiting?" the Doctor offered.

"No— No, you aren't supposed to do that, not for poisoning."

"Then what?"

"CRP," Jackie blurted. "No—I mean CPR."

"Will it work?"

"I don't know, you said she's still breathing!"

"Will it hurt her?"

Jackie bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't know. It might."

"But it could potentially save her life."

"Only to keep her alive until we can call 999 and get her to hospital."

"Uh, no," Adam said, stepping forward authoritatively. "No 999."

The Doctor looked up at Jackie. "Will it be enough?"

"I don't know, you're the doctor!"

"I'm a doctor without my celery! I'm not even human! This isn't exactly my area of expertise!"

"_Help _her!" Jackie interrupted, and the Doctor was certain that if there hadn't been bars to stop her she would have slapped him then and there.

He mentally shook himself. Jackie was right. If there was a chance of it helping, he wasn't going to waste time in arguing about effectiveness. He took Rose's head once more in his hands and gently shifted it from his lap onto the hard ground, brushing a few strands of blonde hair from her face. Situating himself at her side, he locked his fingers together and brought his hands down on her chest. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…._

Breathing heavily, he pinched her nose shut and, without thinking, without wishing or fantasizing or dreaming, he covered her soft mouth with his and blew his own breath into her lungs.

"Again," he muttered to himself, lost in the rhythm. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven-_

Rose's eyes snapped open. She took a deep, ragged breath of her own and turned her head to the side, blinking and gasping. She coughed and massaged her sternum, grimacing. The Doctor sat back heavily on his heels, closing his eyes in his relief. She was awake. Awake was good. She showed no further signs of illness.

"Mum," she said, sitting up.

"Rose, sweetheart, oh thank God." Jackie stumbled to her knees and reached her hands out to Rose, who crawled to the bars and offered her good hand for Jackie to clasp in both of hers. "Never, ever do that to me again," Jackie said, ignoring her own watery eyes. "It's bad enough, you runnin' off with 'im and getting into all sorts of trouble, but seein' you like that—"

"Mum, I'm okay," Rose reassured her. Whatever it had been, it didn't seem to be affecting her now, and Jackie and the Doctor were too relieved at her apparent recovery to question it.

"Poisoned, though! Or sedated! And _you!_" she said, all of a sudden turning on Adam. "What's your game, then? What are you doing to my daughter?"

"To her? To her, almost nothing," Adam responded casually, seemingly recovered from the shock of one of his captives collapsing unexpectedly. "To him, though…whatever I want."

"You are filth," Jackie spat.

"And you are at my whim, my mercy, my everything," he snarled back. "Anyway," he continued in a light tone, "I've already gotten the same vibe from them. Try to contribute something original. Now get up, it's time to go."

Jackie didn't move. "You're gettin' as bad as he is," she said, indicating the Doctor. "Fortunately for 'im, he's worth something. He's a hero. Not perfect, mind you, but if my Rose is right he's saved this planet more times than the number of marks you've put on his back. That includes your life. So what are you? You're a spiteful little boy."

The Doctor's eyes stung and he blinked rapidly. He hung his head to hide his surprise and confusion. Had she meant it? Perhaps it had been a ploy to anger Adam. Praise his enemies to make him flinch-why not? Hadn't he been doing the same thing? Trying to get a rise out of Adam? Trying to maintain the dignity of nine hundred years? The dignity of his friend? Jackie Tyler would never call him "hero." Not in this lifetime.

Rose clutched at her mother's sweater. "Mum. It's not worth it," she muttered.

"No, 'course it's not," Jackie said after a pause, her voice derisive. She glared at Adam from where she crouched, then turned back to her daughter. "You be careful," she whispered. "Be careful and take care of each other." She stood, Adam pointed to the door, and she obediently—if contemptuously—walked to the exit, where she waited for him.

The Doctor shuffled to the bars. "Tell me, Adam," he said in a low voice. "Does she know you're not really here? Does she know you can't hurt her?"

Adam smirked. "Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn't matter; I've got ways of controlling her that have nothing to do with my physical presence."

"Such as?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows.

"Such as an anklet designed to administer an electrical charge at a simple voice command." Adam was grinning fully now, clearly proud of his design. "Who knows how strong the charge is? It could kill her…it could cause brain damage…I just have no way of knowing."

"Voice commands. So that's how you opened her cell upstairs and how you got her in here. One big computer program that does your bidding. Ingenious."

"Isn't it?" Adam drawled. "You see, I thought of everything. Unlike you two, I didn't just blunder into this."

"And unlike you I—" the Doctor began, but Adam cut him off.

"So sorry, must be off. I have to return Ms. Tyler to her room. Cheers!" He turned his back on them abruptly and bounded away to the door. "Aaaand, open," they heard him say cheerfully. The door swung open and they tramped through the doorway, Adam herding Jackie before him. "Genius!" he called behind him before the door slammed shut. "Remember that!"

The Doctor slumped. No plan, no hope—only the promise of more pain. And then something tapped against his leg.

He looked down.

No. It couldn't be. His eyes widened in amazement and he slowly met Rose's gaze. Her grin stretched from ear to ear, her eyes twinkling.

In her hand she held his sonic screwdriver, her fingers curled lightly around it, and he swore to himself that he had never seen a more wonderful sight. This would free them. This was all he needed to get them out. But-

"How?" For a moment words failed him. "How did you get it? _Jackie_?"

Rose nodded, still smiling widely. She laughed at his astonishment. His mouth gaped open as realization hit him. "This was all planned," he breathed.

"Ever since she came and bandaged us. When she did my wrist, I told her they'd taken it. I said she had to get it and that I would think of a way to bring her down here."

"Then that—the, the fainting, the—you were—"

She cast her eyes at the ground and the smile faded somewhat. "I faked it. There was nothing in the food."

The Doctor's cheeks reddened. "Ah," he said.

"But I knew there was a good chance that it would be a way to get my mum to us, to get us the sonic. Cuz you may've known what to do but Adam's clueless, only knows computers and self-gain."

"How did you know that Alan and Paul weren't here?"

"I didn't," she admitted. "That was lucky. But I figured that if Adam brought them down here about poisoning the food, they wouldn't know what was going on and probably wouldn't know what to do. Not that _I_ know what to do. But you could've tried anything and I would have pretended to regain consciousness. Make me throw up, pour water on my face…. As long as my mum was there, I'd already succeeded."

"You could have told me, you know," he said rather peevishly.

"Sorry." She bit her lip. "I needed it to look real."

"Did Jackie know?"

She shook her head. "She only knew that I was trying to find an excuse for her to come in here. I think she thought it was real."

"And if it hadn't worked?"

"I would've come up with somethin' else.

"Quite risky, isn't it?"

"To be honest, I thought I was gonna get caught and have my other wrist like this one." She picked at the bandage securing the broken bone.

"We got lucky."

"Unbelievably lucky."

They allowed the silence of the room to overtake them, the Doctor fiddling with the sonic screwdriver, Rose watching his fingers absentmindedly. He looked over at her. His eyes twinkled and there was a look of pride there in his half-smile. Pride in her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into an embrace.

"You are brilliant," he muttered, his voice a low rumble in her ear. She smiled and nestled her head softly against his shoulder.

* * *

Planning their escape was rather more difficult than either of them would have liked. While it should have been simple, there was the matter of Paul and Alan to consider, as well as Jackie's anklet. They spent the next few hours alternating between discussing plans of escape and sitting in quiet thought. One wrong element in the plan and they could be recaptured, the sonic taken once more and possibly destroyed to prevent future escape attempts. Worse, Adam might activate the electrical impulse in the device locked on Jackie, leaving her in a state that neither Rose nor the Doctor wanted to consider.

If they took out Paul and Alan, there was the possibility of escape. But with no particular combat ability, no real weapons, and no backup, it seemed unlikely that they could take out the two thugs on their own, particularly in their weakened, injured condition. If there were some way of knowing when Paul and Alan wouldn't be in the building…. Except, of course, that there wasn't.

They kept their voices low as they worked through various plans, all of which were scrapped. They knew full well that Adam could use the camera to listen to their conversations. The sonic was kept hidden from the camera, having been tucked under the bed's thin mattress earlier. In spite of the tedious and unsuccessful process of suggesting and eliminating escape plans, their hopes were higher than they had been in what felt like a very, very long time. They were going to get out of here. They were going to be okay.

Except, of course, that Adam had his own plans for them.

The door opened and Alan and Paul entered, apparently back from wherever they had been. The bag of tools was still by the wall where they had left them and Paul did not hesitate in pulling out a very familiar instrument-one that made Rose's stomach clench and heart flutter.

Adam had promised another round of torture. He kept his word. The two men approached and Alan unlocked the door of the cell to allow Paul to grab a handful of the Doctor's shirt, hauling him out into the open.

Whereas in previous sessions the Doctor had been resigned to his fate, the hope instilled by the recovery of the sonic screwdriver had given him new vigor and with it protestation. The lifeless cooperation he had shown before was gone, replaced by his usual vocal self. They couldn't hurt him-not now. It would ruin everything. He twisted and fought as they pulled him across the room, Alan joining Paul in restraining him. His feet dragged along the ground and he tried to keep his purchase.

It was no use; they were far stronger than him. To his obvious alarm, the handcuffs were clamped to one wrist and once more threaded through the bars of the smaller cage before securing the other. Paul kicked his feet from under him and he fell to the ground with a thump, his breath driven from his lungs.

"What—what are you doing?" he gasped nervously, looking up to meet their eyes. His gaze darted from one to the other. His courage—had it been courage?—was gone. Rose felt a growing pain in her arm and realised that she had been clenching her fists, hard. Her breaths were shallow. It had been bad enough watching the Doctor tortured when he hardly reacted to their brutality, but this was far worse. This was a Doctor who knew that whatever was coming was going to be more terrible than before. He had mocked Adam. He had ordered him about, demanding that he fetch Jackie. He had threatened him. Now he clung to that scrap of hope that had filled him before, struggling to maintain it, and all the while he knew that their chances of escape were about to become very slim indeed.

Without warning, Alan grabbed his ankles and yanked them towards him, forcibly laying the Doctor out along the ground. The Doctor was trapped on his back, both hands chained, his legs restrained under Alan's strong grip. He was utterly helpless.

Paul looked down at him impassively. The crowbar rested in the palm of his hand. Without a word, he stepped to the Doctor's side and lowered himself into a crouch, eyeing the Doctor's legs as though studying them. He raised the crowbar slightly and gently, very gently, he tapped the Doctor's left shin with it. There. He would strike there.

Rose could hear the Doctor breathing heavily from across the room. She could hear his fear. She could see it.

Paul raised the crowbar to his shoulder, ready to strike. The Doctor tried to draw his knees to his chest, protect his limbs, but Alan pulled him back, stretching him out as though he were on the rack.

"No. No. Don't do that. Please. Don't do that, not my legs, I need my legs."

The crowbar was hefted higher. The Doctor watched in fear, his brown eyes wide. His chest rose and fell. Sweat stood out on his forehead. There was nothing he could do.

Paul's face contorted and with an animalistic cry he brought the crowbar smashing down on the Doctor's lower leg. The noise was horrible. Not a thud, not a snap or a crack, but a _crunch_. The pain of his shattering leg brought an agonized howl from the Doctor's throat, a sound which seemed to seep into the walls and quiver there. Rose clamped her eyes shut and tried to shut out the sight, the sound.

But it wasn't over.

Paul stepped lightly over the Doctor's trembling form, ignoring his faint whimpers. Again he went through his routine, and it seemed to Rose that he took a sadistic delight in drawing out the moment for as long as possible. With the crowbar he felt for the precise place where he was to strike; not because it mattered, for the bone would break regardless, but because he knew the effect this would have on his victim. Again the Doctor tried to pull away, and again he was restrained. Rose, who had opened her eyes against her better judgment, quickly squeezed them tightly shut again. She clapped her hands over her ears, desperate to block the sound of the bone being crushed. In this she succeeded, yet it was nowhere near enough to block the screams that followed. A tear seeped through one closed eyelid and she shuddered, rocking back and forth where she sat.

The handcuffs were abruptly removed from the Doctor's wrists. He barely noticed. His upper body was forcibly tugged upright, and then he was being dragged by the arms back to the cell. His legs, now useless, jostled along the floor and sent spiking waves of pain through him, almost more than he could bear. He couldn't help the choking cries that accompanied the pain. And then he was deposited, dropped like a sack of rubbish back into the cell where Rose sat waiting.

* * *

**A/N**: For the record, you do not administer CPR to someone who has a pulse and is breathing. That's a really bad plan, guys.


	13. Fever

**A/N:**In which Rose does a lot of crying and the Doctor does a lot of screaming. Not necessarily in that order. Whump whump whump.

I owe a massive thank you to CastlePhoenix, who has been a tremendous help with medical advice and knows just about everything. In the words of the Doctor: You are brilliant, you are. On a slightly related note, I had a tiny little fever last week and struggled just to get through the alphabet correctly (I kept messing up). So this chapter is, to the best of my knowledge, at least 16.8% not-unrealistic.

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Rose sobbed audibly and crawled on hand and knees to the broken man, white as milk, gasping and whimpering on the floor. His already thin lips were drawn tightly together as he tried to suppress the pain, ignore it somehow, swallow it or hold it behind his teeth. His eyes, too, were squeezed shut, creating deep creases around his eyes. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands; they inched, twitching, to his legs as though to hold them in his agony, but the knowledge of the further pain that would bring stayed them. Instead he rolled his fingers into fists and the fingernails dug into his palms.

Rose saw his need and brushed the streaks of tears from her face with her arm. She curled the fingers of her good hand around his fist, an invitation, and he clutched at it and gulped and clenched his teeth and held on to her hand as if he were drowning. It didn't matter that he was squeezing too hard, or that she couldn't budge her fingers within his. They stayed that way for a long time: he out of helplessness, she out of necessity. There was nothing she could do. No mind tricks, no "endorphin whispering." She could only comfort him as a human, nothing more. A human without medicine, with mere compassion as her analgesia.

It wasn't enough. Every moment brought pain. Sometimes in waves, sometimes in stabbing strikes, but mostly in a hideous, incessant, unbridled throbbing felt throughout the entirety of both legs. He couldn't move without worsening it. He couldn't shift to allow his shoulder blades some relief from pressing against the cement through his thin shirt, nor arch his spine to avoid crushing the shredded wound that was his back. He couldn't curl in on himself, as he wanted to, or fold his arms around Rose and hold her tight until the pain went away. And that, after all, was all he really wanted.

They'd been happy, before all this: the rescue mission, the trip to London for Christmas. Fixing a minor problem with the TARDIS after visiting Almorpha Seven's sapphire peaks. Joking about this and that, teasing each other. He should have thought it through, he should have been more prepared. He should have protected them both, and above all he should have left Rose behind, in safety.

But if he had left her behind then she wouldn't be combing her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair right now, and he wouldn't be—wouldn't be—well, _aroused_, aroused by her, by her gentle touch….

He froze. She was combing her fingers through his hair. When had she started to do that? His head was pounding and his back burned and his legs were indescribably damaged and everything was so cold, so very cold. He supposed he hadn't noticed how cold it was, what with Rose's performance and Jackie and the—the legs, the torture, the torture of the, maiming of the legs, the-

He closed his eyes. It was easier this way. The falling motion would stop (it didn't) and the room would stop moving back and forth like that. He couldn't tell Rose, it would only worry her. She would wonder why they were in motion and he wouldn't know how to explain.

Rose watched his face anxiously, her fingers maintaining their rhythm as she dragged her fingernails lightly along his scalp, front to back, combing his hair almost into its usual upright appearance.

A low groan rumbled in his throat and slipped through slightly parted lips. The rapid rise and fall of his chest reflected his continued effort to fight the pain. A tear fell from the tip of Rose's nose onto his neck and she gingerly brushed it off with her bandaged hand, smoothed it from him.

She froze. With her fingertips she felt the skin of his neck, brushed it and drew her hand back.  
With trepidation she placed the back of her hand on his forehead and held it there, her face growing increasingly alarmed.

"You're burning up."

Eyes still closed, he reached out a hand and blindly fumbled for hers, grasping it. He shook his head silently, his face lined and drawn.

"Doctor."

He opened his eyes and focused on her face, panting. She was alarmed at how glassy his eyes looked. Feverish eyes. He'd seemed fine earlier—well, as "fine" as could be expected, given his injuries even then.

"How long've you been like this?" she asked, frowning slightly in her concern.

"A few hours," he croaked. Then: "Infection."

Briefly she felt a plummeting in her heart and, already overwhelmed by emotion and exhaustion, her face crumpled and she fought back horror and rage and the most complete distress. The lot of it washed over her like a tide, in and out and in, and she strove to be just that little bit okay, to be Rose Tyler and not some defeated victim. Not defeated. Not now, when they were so close.

Or, they had been close. It was hardly fair to say that they were anymore, not since Paul had so horrifically damaged the Doctor's legs.

And so the tears came, in earnest now, an uncontrolled flood of them, and all the while she knew that she had done her share of crying already, that she was stronger than this, but hadn't she earned the right? Hadn't she been through enough? Who could endure torture and captivity and remain the same strong person they were upon entering? They had suffered in here for who knew how long, tormented and locked up and starved. And the infection. She had warned them. She had told Alan, bring medicine. She had _said_, dammit, she had _said_ that this would happen, that the whipping would bring infection. The tears turned angry, hot on her cheeks, and she resisted the urge to kick something, to scream and let the anger take control.

Instead she did what she had to do. She took care of the Doctor.

Stifling at last the sobs that shook her body, she straightened herself and let the tears dry on her face. She knew that he had heard, but there was no visible reaction from him. What she felt was not, in its essence, self-pity; it was the knowledge that they had come so close, only to have freedom snatched from them. It was the ability to see and hear and touch but not to heal, to have no control over the health and suffering of the man in front of her for whom she cared more deeply than she was willing to admit. She was, in that moment, little more than a child in the terms of practical use that she had to him, and she was slowly breaking down from the strain of it. _Until we break_, the Doctor had said of their captivity. She felt that perhaps she was nearing that point.

Even so, she hadn't yet given up. Despite her own inner insistence that she was useless, if there was something that could be done she would do it without hesitation.

"Tell me what you need," she said, leaning close.

He shook his head again, and her brow furrowed at the response. "Doctor. Tell me. What can I do for you?"

"Leave it, just leave it!" he snapped abruptly, and she flinched, taken aback.

He turned his head away, clenching and unclenching his hands. He had hurt her deeply by his response.

"I'm only trying to help," she said tremulously after a pause.

He blew out a breath of air. "It hurts," he said curtly.

"I know, I know it does," Rose whispered. She brought a shaky hand up to his face and wiped some of the sweat from his hot forehead, holding her hand there a moment longer than was necessary. It was alarming how high his temperature was. She was reminded of what Adam had said, about characters in films not always making it out in one piece. Maybe he didn't intend for them to make it out at all. Maybe they were meant to die in here, gradually becoming ill and wasting away.

She was determined to not let that happen. Even if she had to drag the Doctor up those flights of stairs one-handed, they were getting out of here.

His breathing calmed somewhat, and he blinked several times at the ceiling before telling her, in slow and broken words, "The—ah—legs should—should be set. If they're…wrong." He breathed slowly through his nose with a look of deep concentration on his face, as though he were preparing himself. "Need to be. To be set. They need to be set."

She cringed. "Oh, God." She didn't want to. She really didn't want to. This was going to be horrible.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you scared?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

The Doctor looked back up at the ceiling. "Me, too," he admitted. It wasn't until she noticed his hands shaking at his sides that she realised the extent of this truth.

"It has to be done," Rose ventured with voice quavering.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. As she watched him it was becoming more and more difficult to shush the voice in her head begging to no one in particular, _Please don't make me do it. Please don't make me do it_. He was in enough pain, just leave it alone, things will be okay if you just leave it alone…. But of course, that wasn't true. The bones had to be set. There wasn't another option.

She positioned herself next to his right leg and met his eyes. "Okay?" she said. He nodded as best he could from his position, permission to proceed. Rose steeled herself and reached down to the bottom of the trouser leg. If she had had scissors, she might have cut the fabric away from the leg to avoid this step. As it was, she had no choice but to take hold of the cloth in the fingers of both hands and begin slowly rolling it up the Doctor's leg.

"_Ah!_" he cried, and she immediately stopped, staring anxiously at his face. His teeth were gritted, the tendons in his neck taut as he lay with eyes closed tight to shut out the renewed flash of pain. "Susan," he gasped, unseeingly reaching a hand out for a phantom, waiting anxiously for someone to grasp it. Rose, petrified and confused but unwilling to leave him feeling abandoned and alone, slid her hand into his and he once more gripped it. "Please, I need a beryllium atomic clock," he muttered, not sounding at all like himself. Rose had to strain to catch what he was saying.

"Doctor?"

He lifted his head with effort and looked at her groggily. "What?"

She stared. He looked lost, the fever that she hadn't noticed earlier now fully apparent in his eyes and the pallor of his face. Mentally, he had seemed fine before his sudden lapse, but how long had this been affecting him? Thinking back, it had been odd that he hadn't known what to do in the face of her faked unconsciousness. She had waved away her misgivings with justifications of stress and panic, but this-

"I'm fine," he said, interrupting her thought process. "I'm fine."

Rose waited for some sign to either continue or desist, but there was none. His face was blank and he didn't make eye contact. She found herself unable to read his expression and, having only his previous request to go by, she cautiously drew her hand out from his and again took the thin pinstriped cloth between her fingers.

"It'll be over soon, okay? Just—think of something else." She wasn't sure if he had heard or if he was too out of it to care. Desperately trying not to jar the leg, she resumed the task of rolling up the trouser leg to examine the shin. He clearly felt it and his whole body tensed, but with more or less success Rose was able to expose the skin underneath. It wasn't pretty. Ordinarily so thin and pale, the flesh around the break was already splotched a deep purple, only slightly swollen but sure to become more so. She remembered the Doctor feeling the bones of her wrist for the nature of the break and, knowing full well how much this was going to hurt him, she placed her fingertips on the tight, hot skin. As he hissed and let out a pitiful moan, she couldn't help but blame herself. He had asked her to, ordered her, actually, and she knew that if his leg needed setting and wasn't cared for there would be further complications.

"You're doing really well," she reassured him shakily. "I'm just going to—" She put light pressure on the swollen flesh and he gave a horrible shout. In spite of the prominence of the tibia, she had to be sure. Set it if it's "wrong," he had said. But as far as she could tell, running her fingers along the length of the bone, it hadn't shifted out of place. The bone was broken, certainly, and the surrounding muscle and skin crushed along with it, but there was nothing to align, to push into place. The best thing they could do, as she saw it, was to keep the leg still and hope that nothing shifted. There was still a little bit of the bandages left in the corner of their cell from Jackie's first visit, but it wouldn't be enough for both legs. It was barely enough for one.

The other leg, though…. Paul had hit the left leg first, and hit it hard. It had been a powerful swing and one that she hoped would one day be erased from her mind's eye. If she had to guess, the left leg would be worse off than the right.

Almost the instant she started on the left trouser leg, the Doctor shouted for her to stop. "No, no, no, skip it," he babbled while shaking his head. "Leave it, just, don't touch it, please."

"Look," she reasoned gently, "I know it hurts but—"

"_Just leave it, Rose_," he snarled.

Startled, she sat back on her heels in silence. Neither spoke. The Doctor let his head drop back to the ground with a small and unfortunate thud. Rose, wounded by his outburst, set her gaze on a point halfway up the wall. It was over a minute before the Doctor spoke.

"Sorry."

Her gaze slid down the wall towards him. Rose wanted to be angry with him, snap at him, tell him again that she was trying to help and to not take his suffering out on her. A small, frustrated, malicious part of her mind was whispering that if he refused her help then let the leg get infected, too; she had tried. Right now she was all he had and while she knew that the pain and the fever were no doubt to blame for his harshness, she too was in pain and deserved civility.

Yet there was no use in saying it. This wasn't him speaking. He wouldn't treat her like this under ordinary circumstances. And so, because she was worried for him and pitied him, she accepted the apology.

And that was when she saw the blood. Seeping through the cloth on his left leg, a patch of dark red against the pinstripes.

"Doctor," Rose said, her eyes wide.

"Mmf," he grunted, craning his neck to see what she was staring at.

"You're bleeding," she said, already reaching nervously for the remaining bandages without taking her eyes off the stain.

He groaned. "Much?" he queried.

"Um…. More than a scratch."

The Doctor took several deep breaths, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Do it."

"What?"

"You're going to do it anyway," he said in a strained voice. "But can I ask that you split the trousers with the sonic?"

Rose shifted to be closer to his head so as to better see his face. "Adam might see," she said softly, aware of the camera in the corner.

The Doctor gave a barking laugh and cringed. "We can't escape anyway," he said through gritted teeth. "Look at me."

"We're getting out," she responded firmly.

He shook his head, letting it loll on the ground. "You might. But not me."

"And if I get out what do you think they'll do to you?" she demanded in a whisper. "Not a chance, Mister." Climbing to her feet, she fetched the sonic from under the mattress as inconspicuously as possible, her back kept turned towards the camera. Tucking it into her sleeve, she returned to the Doctor's side and took her place beside his leg.

"What do I do?"

"You remember when we—in London, during the Blitz, the—the…er…wire, the barbed wire? I had you reattach it, to, to reattach it. Do you remember?"

"'Course I do. Everybody lived. We danced," Rose said, putting on a brave smile.

"Right." He grinned in spite of himself, though the corners of his mouth were turned down. "Well, instead of reattaching, you're cutting through. Much lower setting—42A. Got it?"

Rose fiddled with the sonic, finding the right setting. "Yes."

"Good, now just carefully cut through the cloth." He shuddered as he spoke the last words, and Rose scanned his face, frightened by his condition. Yet there was no time for that; she had a job to do. She focused on the sonic and, turning her back to Adam's camera to hide the blue glow, she pressed the button and drew a nearly-straight line along the cloth. As she did so, it parted from the leg and she saw the extent of the damage.

The Doctor must have heard her breathing change, for he struggled to sit up in spite of his body's protest. In the end, it seemed, it was too much effort and too much pain and he settled for leaning on his forearms.

"Oh, Rassilon," he muttered, exhaling deeply and trying to stem the distress and dizziness rising in him.

The leg was split open, the flesh tinged maroon, a copious amount of blood slick against the skin. It had yet to clot and still oozed from the wound, through which a fragment of white could be seen. Contusion and blood and bone.

You've lost a lot of blood," Rose said, fighting nausea.

"Not good," he panted. "Doesn't look major, though. Could be worse."

Rose made an effort to calm her breathing. Swallowed. Steeled herself. "Set the bone, stop the bleeding."

The Doctor groaned and nodded. "Do it quickly, R-Rose."

She looked up. "You're shivering," she noted, alarmed.

"'S cold," he muttered.

It was apparent that his condition was worsening. The sooner she could set the bone, the better chance they had of getting out of here. At least, that's what she told herself. She spoke to him as she placed both hands around his calf, trying to distract him, though as soon as she touched the leg he became rigid and made a sort of wheezing noise. Her eyes flicked up to his—they were closed. Good. He wouldn't see her face as she did this. Without warning, her hands tightened around the swollen flesh and she tugged, hard.

He screamed. The scream seemed to go on and on, punctuated by choking sobs. It tunneled deep into Rose's heart and struck her there. Had she been made deaf for just that moment, she would have been grateful, for the sound was heart-wrenching. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on the leg and pushed it forward, hoping that it was in place and, most of all, hoping that she was doing this correctly. She was worried that the jagged end of the bone would sever a vein or damage the tissue, yet the Doctor had said that it needed to be done and she trusted his judgment. Let it begin to heal crooked and there would be further complications.

The Doctor drew a great rattling breath and began to shake, whether from cold or shock or pain she didn't know. Rose started and shifted her position. She placed one calming hand on his chest and the other against his cheek. It was hot to the touch and, while the heat was a relief from the cold that had been invading her fingers these last few days, it was hardly the kind of warmth she could appreciate.

Rose said nothing, waiting for him to speak, to tell her that he would be okay, to give her instructions, anything, but he remained silent. While she preferred the silence to the screaming, she couldn't pretend that this wasn't unsettling.

"Doctor?" He continued to shiver and, disregarding her own health, she drew off the thick jumper that had been keeping her almost warm since their arrival in this cold cell. The cold air stabbed against her bare arms and her own abrupt onset of shivering almost matched his. It was dangerous to go without the extra layer, but what could she do? He needed it. She wasn't about to let the fever win.

Rose spread the jumper, much too small, over his torso. If it weren't for his back, she might lie across him, lend her own body heat, cover him with the warmth of living flesh. Instead she had to make do with the only fabric she could spare. In the meantime, the leg desperately needed binding and Rose made no delay in grabbing the bandages and beginning to wind them around the calf. The leg was jostled several times in the process, each time followed by a yelp from the Doctor, though he didn't seem to be aware of what she was doing. Had there been more bandages, Rose would have wrapped the other leg as well. As it was, she had no other option than to hope the leg would not be moved.

By this point her own fracture was protesting the extended use of her hand and, terribly unhappy and anxious and wishing this would all end, Rose lay down next to the Doctor, curled close, and eventually fell into a fitful asleep.


	14. Beyond the Breaking Point

**A/N:** To my biggest fan, JasmineVsAngels: Hey. I love you. This is my only guaranteed way to get in touch with you-I'm not sure why my message didn't reach you (don't suppose it's floating around in your inbox?) and the website won't allow me to directly respond to your reviews. How's about you try sending me a private message from my profile and I'll respond to it.  
Speaking of reviews, you should all consider it, fa la la. Just under 3% of readers review, did you know?

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"No! Cross-shields! Shields!"

Rose awoke with a start and sat bolt upright, her hair lightly mussed in spite of the brevity of her sleep. The Doctor thrashed beside her, eyes wide open and wild, hands with fingers splayed. Thoroughly frightened, Rose scrambled to her knees and—and held back. What could she do? Oh, but he was going to hurt himself, he had almost certainly already done so. Words flew from babbling lips as he fought whatever demons only he could see. A memory of the past? A hallucination? She couldn't be sure.

"Doctor," she said, as she had said a dozen times the last few days, the concern in her voice so familiar by now. She reached out a hand to touch him, still him, but he flung out an arm and pushed it away.

"You are not my mother!" he growled. "You—are not—not—you are _not_ my mother!"

There was something in his eyes, something behind the feverish sheen. He didn't recognize her, she was sure of it. And in spite of all his injuries, she was certain that he was, in that instant, dangerous.

"Doctor, please—" she said, cringing in anticipation of an attack, verbal or physical or both. He wasn't him, he wasn't the Doctor, he was a wounded man drowning in pain and delirium and there was no predicting what it would do to him. In spite of herself, she shifted closer and reached out a shaky hand. His eyes rolled this way and that and he closed them with a muffled scream and pounded the floor with his fists. When her open palm made contact with his skin, he snapped to look at her, panting.

"She's trying to kill me! You're trying to kill me! She's trying to kill me! Get her off me, she's trying—she's trying—she's trying to _kill_ me, to kill me, kill me, get _off_, get her _off_ of me!"

Rose recoiled. He was further gone than she had thought, the Doctor all but vanished to make way for this seething man who didn't see her, didn't trust her. When was he going to come back? Even from where she knelt, she could feel the heat emanating from his body, the fever burning inside him. He struggled on the ground, thrashing and turning his head this way and that, and Rose could do nothing but watch, horrified. This was what torture did, then. It wasn't the pain and the fear and the imprisonment, it was the gentle loosening of the locks in the mind, the inviting curled finger beckoning in fever and madness. But this wasn't madness, this was illness. But illness was madness. But….

Incomprehensible phrases scattered this way and that across the room as the Doctor shouted and snarled. If Adam was watching this…if the camera was on…. _Well_, Rose thought bitterly, _he must be getting a good show out of this_. For a time she wasn't sure what to feel: was it the seething anger towards their captors for what their actions had done to the Doctor, or was it terror that he wouldn't recover, that they wouldn't get out in time, that this infection would end up killing him?

But he would regenerate. And she would be left with a stranger of sorts, a new man who hadn't yet discovered who he was. Someone with a different face, a different hand to hold, and though she knew that his suffering was prolonged this way she wished desperately that he wouldn't change, that he would hold on for her. He couldn't leave her, not like this. Because regenerating would mean becoming a Doctor who wasn't _her_ Doctor, not yet, and she needed him now more than ever. Someone familiar, someone in whom she had the utmost confidence. His presence in that cell with her, while not the only thing keeping her fighting, was the only thing keeping her sane.

It was a long hour before his cries tapered off into muffled moans and his thrashing was replaced by shivering. It was another five minutes before Rose was convinced that it was safe to approach him. She crept closer, eyeing him nervously. If he lashed out again…. And while she genuinely did fear for herself, she could only imagine how much damage he had done to his injuries in the oblivion of his fit. It occurred to her that maybe she ought to remove the bandages from the infected wounds of his back—wasn't there something about airing out wounds? Or was that only the less serious ones? What if they needed cleaning? There was still some water from the food and drink that—untainted and poison-less—had been provided earlier. Yet, if she used the water to wash out the wounds, there was no more bandaging to wrap him back up and hold him together like a broken doll. Not that she could roll him on his front; while it would no doubt be infinitely more comfortable—or rather, less painful—for him to lie on his stomach, his legs ensured that that could not be done. She didn't dare so much as roll him on his side.

Just as importantly, using the water on his back meant less water for drinking, and there was no knowing when they would be given more. _If_ they would be given more. Which raised the question of how long they were going to be here. Was it a matter of patience? When Adam became tired of them would he throw them out the door and leave them to crawl home?

The Doctor took a deep, rattling breath; Rose realised that she had been staring into space and snapped back to the present. The Doctor's eyes had been closed since the shivering resumed, and now they fluttered open. He mumbled something, the noise a rumbling tremor in his throat, and Rose leaned closer.

"What?" she said tentatively, not knowing whether he was yet lucid.

"Is I'm…." He started again, looking confused. "Is I'm…I'm…. I am…. Cross-shields of Zio. Of Io. Io, Zio…." He cleared his throat, blinked, closed his eyes. Opened them again. Blinked at her. Recognition was only partly there, the rest a haze, and yet she thought he knew her. Enough, at the very least, to accept that she was not trying to kill him. That had been the worst of it.

"Hey," Rose said.

"Hello."

Rose made a brave attempt to smile. Was it too soon to touch him? Should she take his hand? She settled for adjusting the jumper that had fallen from him as he fought his own body. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Rose," he said groggily.

"Do you know where you are?"

He swallowed and again cleared his throat. "Not really," he mumbled.

"And—and how are you feeling?"

The Doctor looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Not so good."

Not for the first time since they had been locked up, Rose found herself wondering what her mother would do. Nineteen years of caring for a daughter who had had her share of sick days and colds and fevers, scrapes, aches, pains, and there had been enough days spent at home on the sofa with a mug of tea and a blanket. Keep warm and hydrate.

Standing, Rose grabbed a bottle of water from the leftover food supplies and struggled to twist off the cap one-handed. Growling with frustration, she stuck it under her arm and found that the bottle simply turned along with the cap when she twisted. In the end she knelt and wedged it between her knees, managing to spill water on herself when at last the cap came off. She cursed; in the frigid air the water soaking her trousers was very cold. With a hint of anger she wished that she had dressed more warmly for their Christmas visit. Now that she was sans jumper, the air nipped at her bare arms. But if she had another layer, she would have given it to the Doctor in an instant.

Rose set the bottle down and scooted to a position just behind the Doctor's head. "C'mere, you. Up you get," she said, and she lifted his heavy head with her hand and shuffled forward to rest it on her thighs as she knelt. He grunted and, possibly because he was so weak, didn't resist. Rose picked up the bottle of water and brought it to his lips. "Drink this, all right?"

He looked at it and blinked, trying to focus.

"It's just water," Rose said.

Obediently he parted his lips and she tilted the bottle ever so slightly. In spite of her care a trickle of water dribbled down his chin and she wiped it from him with her bandaged hand, ignoring the twinge that the action caused. He drank until she gently tilted the bottle back upright and eased it from his lips to set it down, half full.

"Are you hungry?"

He shook his head silently and shivered.

"Is there anything I can do?" She pulled the jumper up around his neck as though it were a blanket, though of course it was far too small to serve the purpose of one.

"No need to mother me, Rose," he muttered, almost inaudibly, and Rose was so surprised that she laughed out loud. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in the smallest of smiles; she thought she saw a little of his usual self and for the first time since she had woken from her nap she began to breathe normally, releasing what felt like ten years of tension in her chest.

"It's you," she said, laughing.

"A little bit of me," he said, voice raspy. He cleared his throat and closed his drooping eyelids.

Rose wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stave off the cold. "There must be something I can do for you. Tell me."

"I'd tell you to elevate the legs," he said with a touch of pained humour, "but please don't."

The statement made Rose want to laugh and cry at the same time but she did neither. Rather, she watched over the Doctor, who in spite of his current state of clarity looked positively wretched. There were dark circles under his eyes and the strain marked his face. Neither of them had bathed in what must have been three or four days—how long had it been?—and it showed. She could smell it, too, his sweat, a strange odour bearing a resemblance to human perspiration but mildly different; she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Because she didn't know what else to do, she once more felt his forehead, perhaps in a desperate hope of finding that the fever had broken. He was as hot as before. The absence of the delirium didn't mean a thing.

Heavy hearted, Rose rested her hands on his shoulders and took a deep breath. "What am I going to do," she said quietly. The Doctor didn't answer.

As it seemed her only option, Rose settled down to work on an escape plan. Things were harder now than ever, more hopeless, more risky. No matter how she did it, pulling the Doctor out of that cell would result in extraordinary pain for him. She had one useful hand, he had no legs to stand on, and it wasn't as though she could carry him up all those stairs herself. Even with the use of two hands, that would be a torment for both of them, especially him. She imagined his feet bumping against every step on the way up and grimaced at the thought. Yet, if it got them out…surely it would be worth it?

She lay down on the ground and curled up next to the Doctor, sharing his warmth and offering him hers. A symbiosis of heat and companionship. Getting out of this room was easy enough now that they had the sonic screwdriver, but Adam was watching and would either summon Alan and Paul or administer the electric shock through Jackie's anklet. He had planned it well: the fear of harming her mother kept Rose from action. He had made sure they knew that he was more than a distant image. As long as he was watching, he was a threat. Unless…. Unless she took out the camera. Without eyes, Adam wouldn't know for sure what was going on in their prison. He was too clever to assume mechanical failure. He would know straight away that something was up. If he suspected that they were attempting an escape, the first thing he would do would be to check for the screwdriver, see if it was where he had left it. And that would be the moment when Jackie was punished for Rose's actions.

It wasn't enough time. If there were a way for Rose to take out Adam's entire computer system, then they had a chance. Adam would be temporarily incapacitated, trapped in 2012 where he belonged until he could get the system running again, and from 2012 he couldn't harm Jackie. At least, that was Rose's assumption. An assumption that she desperately hoped was true. With Adam gone the only true obstacles were Paul and Alan. The stairs were a problem, but one less urgent. Rose was far more concerned about bypassing the people who aimed to hurt them for sport.

What was especially frustrating was the fact that it would have been so extraordinarily simple to remove the anklet from Jackie or to inhibit its functionality with a single zap of the screwdriver. But that required proximity, and there was almost no chance at all that Jackie would be allowed back in the basement cell. Her job was to act as a hostage to make Rose and the Doctor fearfully behave. Her presence in that hospital was Adam's threat to them. The only chance of her joining them in the basement, Rose thought, would be if Adam required an extra level of fun and sent her along with Paul and Alan to stand by the sidelines and witness the next round of torture. Because there would be a next round, Rose was certain of that. The Doctor was at his limit, his breaking point, and Adam knew this. This was what Adam had wanted all along, what he had been waiting for: for the Doctor to lose all courage, all strength and identity, to snivel at his feet. He was so close to defeating the Doctor and he knew it.

Rose was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't notice the change in the Doctor's condition. Had it been gradual? She couldn't say. But when her bare arm pressed against him as she shifted on the cold ground, she could feel the difference in temperature. She sat up, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear, and leaned over him. His eyes were closed; he didn't seem to notice. The only evidence that he was even alive came from the slight tremors as his body reacted to the cold. Only the shivering and restless breathing, in and out, such shallow, shaky breaths.

Gingerly, Rose extended an arm and placed light fingers on his neck. He twitched but otherwise there was no response. She held the back of her hand against his skin. It was cool and clammy, and she could feel his pulse throbbing against her hand. His heartsbeats were fast; too fast, even for him. What was this? A symptom of the infection? A complication from the legs? What was happening to him? If only she could turn him on his side, examine his back, she could try to flush out the infection, anything. There was nothing she could do for the legs, but he shouldn't be lying on his back. Things were getting worse. The burning heat that had so alarmed her earlier was in some ways less frightening than this cold skin, and she couldn't keep out the thought that when he was dead and gone his body would be just as cold, just as rigid. Flesh like death.

She muttered his name, needing a response, a verification that he was still with her. Quietly he said something in a language she couldn't understand. Gallifreyan, she guessed. She placed a hand on his face and his eyes fluttered open.

"You stay with me," she said, her voice shaking. "All right? Don't you leave me."

He wet his lips with his tongue. "I'm right here," he told her in a voice weaker than before.

"Just hold on, okay? Hold on, Doctor." She brushed his hair back from his forehead and pressed her lips to it.

"Is that a magic kiss?" he rumbled throatily, his eyes closing again.

"God, I hope so."

"Is there a morphine substitute?"

"N-not exactly." She forced a smile that he didn't see and took his hand. It was still relatively warm; that seemed like a good sign. One good sign in the midst of a dozen bad ones. Did that still make it a good sign or did that make it a false hope?

* * *

She had known that the door would open again. That Paul and Alan would be back, and that for once Adam would be joining. She had suspected that Adam would want a front row seat this time, that he hadn't finished with them. He would want to see the Doctor break up close. He would want to be there in person to watch the Doctor beg for mercy. But the last session had been so recent, and Adam had set an ugly pattern: torture, then wait. Then torture again. This was too soon, she hadn't had time to think up a proper escape plan, she needed _time_.

Adam strolled in first, followed by Paul and then Alan, who had evidently been tasked with holding the door open for Adam. Paul headed straight for the bulging bags set against the wall, while Adam gleefully strode towards the cage where Rose and the Doctor sat waiting with bated breath. The Doctor kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling rather than acknowledge Adam's presence, but Rose was unable to look away as Adam curled his fingers around the bars and peered in.

"Hello, darlings," he said, his lips drawing into a smirk.

"Adam," Rose began, forcing her voice into a calm tone. "Please, let us go. Whatever we did to you, I'm sorry. We can make it right, we can _fix _this, just—_please_, let us go."

Adam tilted his head to the side. "Do I detect desperation?"

"I'm asking you to look at what you're doing. You're _human_, Adam, you're not a monster!"

"Answer the question, Rose," he said mildly.

"You want me to say it out loud?" Rose said, looking up at him from the floor. "Yes, I'm desperate. I am desperate, because I'm stuck in this bleedin' cellar while you torture my best friend and make me deal with the aftermath. I'm desperate because he's lyin' here with a raging fever and who knows what else, and I haven't got any medical supplies, and he's going to _die_ if he doesn't get help. Desperate? Yeah, maybe a little bit."

The Doctor stirred beside her and tilted his head back to look at her. There was an odd expression on his face that she couldn't read. Then he blinked and it was gone. Adam stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned casually against the bars.

"You're right," he said with a faint snicker. "He doesn't look so well."

"You _bastard!_" Rose screamed, snapping. She leaped at the bars, trying to reach Adam through them, to claw at him or punch him, to harm him in any way she could. He merely took a step back and watched her efforts from just beyond her reach. Rose was aware that she was losing control, but she didn't care. This man—this _thing_— She couldn't organize her thoughts, everything was anger with a touch of panic. He was never going to release them. He would watch as the Doctor died or regenerated, and then he would keep going. He was not going to stop, because Adam Mitchell was a sadistic, power hungry madman.

Adam laughed loudly, pointing and turning his back on her to look at his hired thugs. "Careful, Alan!" he laughed. "You've got a handful with this one." He swivelled to face Rose again. "See, at first I told him, 'No, Alan, you can't take her.' And he whined and fussed for a time, you know, but now that things are getting interesting, well, you can't blame me if I let him have his turn. After all, you did make him a promise. Didn't you, Rose? You promised sex. Are you a whore? Are you a filthy whore, Rose?"

Rose let out an inhuman snarl and clutched at the bars, seething. If he came just three inches closer, she would shred his skin with her fingernails. A hand clutched her ankle, and she looked down. The Doctor locked eyes with her and shook his head no, lips drawn tightly together. No what? No, don't fight them? No, it won't happen? Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly, backing away from the bars. The Doctor's grip on her ankle loosened and he released her.

Paul and Alan stepped forward and Alan cleared his throat. Adam smiled and took two or three steps back to make way for them. It was time.

Rose wasn't aware of when she started shaking, but once she noticed she couldn't stop. Her hands, her legs…. She felt like she was crumbling, deteriorating from unstable foundations. She was falling apart.

"Right here will do," Adam said. He pointed to a space on the floor just beyond the door of the larger cage. A space where, conveniently, Rose would be able to see the torture in high definition. "She should have a nice view, don't you think?" he asked of his henchmen. Alan grinned. Paul went to fetch one of the bags, hauling it over to the designated spot.

"Stop it, Adam, please, stop it," Rose begged, knowing that he wasn't going to listen. "_Please!_"

Her heart beat faster, hammering in her chest. She dropped to her knees and clutched at the Doctor protectively, grabbing fistfuls of his coat. "They won't take you, they won't, I won't let them," she murmured. She could hear his rapid breathing. They were both frightened, though he hid his fear much better than she. In spite of it all, he was still brave. But he wouldn't be for much longer.

With a gesture, Adam sent his men to fetch their victim. Alan pulled the key from around his neck. Paul stood by with a knife, perhaps as a warning to Rose not to resist. She glared at him and he smiled slowly. Adam watched as Paul and Alan entered the cage and Alan grabbed Rose, pulling her off of the Doctor.

"This'll be us later," he breathed into her ear with his peppermint breath. She shuddered and struggled, but he had her arms clamped against her chest and her efforts to kick him were in vain.

"No!" she shouted. "Get off!"

Alan laughed and mashed her body against his. She felt something hard prod into her lower back and, repulsed, she struggled all the more.

Meanwhile Paul had the Doctor's wrists in both hands and was dragging him out the door of the cell. Too weak to fight back, too injured, the Doctor panted and yelped as his injuries met fresh pain. Alan shoved Rose against the wall, hard, and she cried out as her head collided with the concrete. Dazed, she was dimly aware of Alan closing the cage door behind him and locking her inside, alone.

There was no need for restraints now. Handcuffing the Doctor would have made no difference. He was utterly helpless, lying on the ground with legs broken and back torn. He could only watch as they began their gruesome exercise. Rose, on the other hand, would not watch. She could not. It was too horrible. They had forced her to be close by for the torture but they couldn't make her look. She turned her face to the wall and rested her forehead against the cold surface, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. But she could hear everything. She heard a zipper as Alan opened one of the bags of instruments. She heard metallic clanging as he shuffled through it in search of a particular tool. And most of all she heard the screams of the Doctor as he was mutilated, screams that seemed to last forever.

Adam got what he wanted. Because the Doctor began to beg, after a time. He begged and he screamed and he cried.

"_No more. No more, please. I'll do anything. Anything you ask, please, please, no, stop!"_

Rose didn't see it but she could imagine the smug grin on Adam's face, slowly becoming a full, wide smile as all of his planning and scheming paid off.

"_Not that! Not that, please! Please. Please!"_

The screams and the harsh laughter tore through her. She dug her nails into her arms and curled into a ball on the floor.

"_No. No. What are you doing—what are you— No!"_

She thought of her mother and bit her lip until it bled and there was blood on her chin and on the floor and on her hands.

"_I can give you money—technology—anything, anything, just please, don't, NO—"_

Rose wanted to use the sonic screwdriver then and there. She wanted to open the cage and fight them, to protect her Doctor. She would kill them all. She would tear them apart with their own tools, starting with the crowbar. And even when they were on the ground, begging her for mercy, she would keep going. She would give back everything that they had done to her and the Doctor, until every bone had been broken, every inch of skin scarred. She would hurt them until they didn't know their own names.

The torture lasted an hour, and when they had finished the screams tapered off and gave way to sobbing. About two-thirds of the way through the Doctor had begun speaking in Gallifreyan, perhaps unaware of the transition, and through his sobs foreign words were interjected like prayers.

The precise nature of the proceedings remained a mystery to Rose. She had heard many things, all of them terrible, but to know what they had done would have been a torture in itself. She couldn't bring herself to look. She didn't want to see the damage

And then there was the final comment, made by Adam, who had to raise his voice to be heard over the moans:

"No, leave his teeth. I want him to be able to smile at me when we're done."

The sound of metal on metal. A tool had been dropped back into the bag. There were footsteps, and Adam's voice breathed into the room, soft and cruel.

"Just change your face again. It's a healing process, isn't it? Your little hospital visit in 1996 says yes. So why not change?"

Rose could hear the struggle in the Doctor's voice, the trembling and the pain, as he gave a response that broke her heart.

"For…her."

Adam paused. "Come again?"

"For…_her_…."

There was silence for a moment, filled with the Doctor's ragged breathing and Rose's own heartbeat. Then Adam laughed, and there was a thud, and the Doctor cried out, and then the cage door was creaking open and a heavy body was thrown inside. Three pairs of footsteps made their way to the door and left. The door shut with a bang. It was over.

Rose knew one thing: within the next twenty-four hours, they were going to escape.


End file.
